Sheep Pedicure

I had called the vet two weeks ago to come out and cut off the tails of my sheep. My friend Colin has me worried that their messy tails will attract blowflies and their offspring, the darling maggots. I have cut the wool off from around Blanche's derriere and she's a much cleaner sheep.

The vet said he'd call me back and schedule a rendez-vous. I never heard from him again. So two days ago, I had Corinne, the woman who works for us, call him. He gave her the same message: he'd call me.

Low and behold, that same afternoon, when it was 95F in the shade and we had just returned from a tiring day at the sweltering Toulouse auto auction, and I had just laid down on the couch for a siesta, the vet called and asked if he could come over. Not the next morning as Corinne had requested, but right now. I said it was fine . . . even though I hung up the phone and moaned to my husband that it would be a most unpleasant experience -- wrestling sheep in extremely hot and humid weather.

I put on my American overalls, my leather gloves, my baseball hat, and grumbingly waited for the vet to arrive. Turns out he's a handsome specimen of a man, and when my single girlfriend Cathi arrives next week, I'll have to think of some other reason for him to visit the sheep. He spoke great English with a debonair French accent.

I held the sheep down while he trimmed their hooves and gave them preventative shots for worms. He told me that there was no reason to cut their tails at this stage in their lives. The procedure would require putting them under anesthesia and he didn't feel it was worth doing.

I asked him if he thought that Blanche was too fat. He replied that she looked healthy. I told him that he gave great manicures. He replied, "I won't put pink on them."