Once he has a leg in the crock, it is impossible for a sheep to escape. With practised skill he uses his left hand, and legs to control the movements of the animal, and turn him or her as necessary. In his right hand he guides the shearer, shaving wool from skin quickly. Within ten minutes, the three sheep are clean, and a pile of black wool lies on the grass. If it were white he would take it to be sold, but it seems that black is not desirable.
His palm is crossed with silver, hands are shaken, and farewell greetings spoken, until next year. For a day the sheep bleat in confusion, unable to recognise each other.