Nippers

As you might deduce from the previous post, yesterday was one of those days. After our adventures in rodeo, dairy style, we went in to breakfast.

Liz went to work, Alan was already at college, so it was just the boss, Becky and me. As the boss passed by he asked Beck, "How handy are you with the nippers?'

Since the cows got out through a partially shorted out electric fence and since brush nippers are the usual remedy for that ailment, I thought he wanted someone to cut the brush out of the fence. Becky told him no she wasn't handy with nippers, but the request lingered in the back of my mind.

Man, it was so hot. I put it off and put it off, doing all manner of normally unwelcome indoor chores, but I knew that brush needed nipping.

Finally I tucked my trusty iPod into my snap-down shirt pocket, sprayed some WD-40 on my nipper head and went out to nip. I tend to spend my non-milking hours in flip flops. Nettles soon convinced me that, as miserable as it is to wear rubber work boots in ninety+ degree sunshine, I had no choice but to change footwear. It probably didn't take me much over an hour and a half to get the fence all cleared out but I was so disappointed that I didn't get any compliments from the boss on my self-imposed industry.

Then about half way through evening milking I realized. He didn't expect either me or Beck to trim up the fence. He was hinting, in his obviously far too subtle manner, that he wanted me to give him a hair cut.......which I had already done, long before the brush nipping nirvana portion of my day...as a means of further delaying the latter job.

I love it when I completely outsmart myself.