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As I made my way to the shearing barn, I heard a cacophony of distraught bleating. This grew louder with each step. The sheep were screaming their urgent communications; the frenzied chorus of “I Don’t Know!” never abated. The shearing team had just grabbed two shaggy balls of wool and laid them on their backs. The men knew what they were doing – they were hired to shear a couple hundred sheep that day and no one seemed anxious about it. This was just business. The animals received their regulation crew cuts one after the other, with nary a nick. One by one, they were seized, shaved and released into the bald sheep area. Every couple of sheep, one man scurried forward to collect the pile of wool taken from them. I snapped photo after photo. The team was oblivious to the woman tromping about the straw in her skirt and boots. They ignored the light of a constant flash. They had their job; I had mine..
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