For years I had the greatest shearer. Joel was so young when he first started, his mother drove him to jobs. His brother, Matthew, was his assistant, and my good friend, Sharron, also assisted on shearing days. The four of us made a good team. We each had a job to do, and most of the time everything went smoothly.

Joel always complained about how hard my little Shetlands were to shear, and he and Matthew always commented on how easy Keira, our llama, was to shear. She haltered up fairly easily, and stood still while Joel sheared her, with only an occasional flick of the ears when he did her legs or neck.

He and Matthew should have been here today. They wouldn’t have believed it was the same llama.

We sheared Samson first, figuring he was bigger and a bit of an unknown. He’s always been pretty laid back since we got him, but still won’t allow us to pet him or get too close if he can help it, so we didn’t know how he would react to being sheared.

Once The Farmer caught him, and we finally pushed and pulled and got him over to our shearing station, he was as easy-going as ever, and allowed The Farmer to shear all over without getting too upset. The Geek held Samson’s head and said nice things to him, telling him not to worry, he wouldn’t lose his strength just because we were cutting his hair.

I hemmed him in on one side while The Farmer sheared on the other. We may not be professionals, but he got sheared without a nick, and he’ll be cooler now, so that’s what counts.

And he didn’t kick. He didn’t fuss. He didn’t spit. Too bad I couldn’t say the same for Keira.

While we were shearing Samson, she made the mistake of going into the shed to get further away from us, and I shut the gate. Good thing, or we might never have caught her. She knew what was up, and she wasn’t having any.

Even in that small space we had a devil of a time trying to get hold of her and put a halter and lead on her. Just take a look at this video and you’ll see what I mean!

I’d never heard her make such screams, whinny’s and spit so much. And not just that polite little “I spit in your general direction” with a little saliva from her mouth. Oh no, this was the “I’m hocking up some fermented green goop and showering you in a spew of stench.”

It was nasty.

She never let up the whole time we were shearing her. She fussed, she spit, she kicked, she spit, she tried to bite, she spit, she reared up, she spit, she screamed, she spit, she sidled around, she spit, she tried to kush down and then rear back up, she spit, she jumped around, and oh, did I mention she SPIT???

I’m afraid I called her worse than “Miss Crankypants” today. She was the worst-behaved little brat we’ve ever sheared. So what happened to our sweet, friendly, I don’t mind what you do to me llama?

She got pregnant.

Man, those hormones must be rough on a llama! I hope she goes back to her old self after she has a cria, cause I’d hate to think she was going to stay this cranky from now on!

11 and a half months gestation is going to seem like forever to all of us.

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Here we are, another Friday, and it’s been a BUSY week as usual! With school, work, farm and household chores, who has time for photography?

Okay, I confess, I just about always carry my camera with me when I go out to do morning chores. So here’s a few of this week’s snapshots from the farm.

I’d never seen such red wasps until I moved to the south. I think they blend in better with all the red soil, ha! (As opposed to Iowa or Canada, which both have some of the blackest soil I’ve ever seen!)

This is our male llama, Samson, before getting up in the morning. He has a couple of hitchhikers…

It’s bad enough they think the llama is their own personal roosting place, but then the rooster has just got to crow about it…

At least one of the sheep thinks he’s really baaaaad.

Later that afternoon he figured a nice fluffy sheep in the shade made a good roosting place.

Our female llama doesn’t care how many chickens sit on Samson or the sheep, as long as she gets her afternoon session in the sprinkler.

To really get the full effect of that picture, be sure to click on it so it enlarges and you can see the drops of water more clearly!

We have some new guinea babies running around the farm.

I’m not sure why it takes half a dozen adult guineas to take care of four little keets! Last year they were having 12-14 keets hatching at a time.

And lastly, I just know you’ve been wondering what I did with all the scrap wool I skirted off all those fleeces. Well, here’s your answer:

Bet you didn’t know we grow wool in our flowerbeds here in the south!

And there you have it, a glimpse of life this past week on the farm.

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I may feel human again, oh say, in another century or so.

Well, when you consider in the last week, mostly the last 4 days, I got 100 bags of fiber ready for sale, I guess it’s no wonder I’m a bit done in.

Wednesday I worked on wool.
Thursday The Farmer and I both worked on wool.
Friday morning I worked on wool.
Saturday I worked on wool.

I was sooooo thrilled when I threw the final bag of skirted wool onto the pile yesterday! And then took down the skirting table, swept up the bits of fleece scattered all over the floor, mopped the kitchen floor and otherwise got rid of the mess I’d made.

Of course, the den is now full of fiber. One couch is buried, with wool up the sides of the wall, and piled in front of the couch.

There are bags of wool, bags of alpaca fiber, bags of llama fiber, and even a bag of mohair. There are bags of trash wool, bags of scrap wool, and old bags from previous storage.

At least the smell is better with the wool bagged up, but it

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