I’ve told this story briefly before, but it illustrates my point. One afternoon, I was sitting quietly in the lounge and my husband answered a knock on the door. There stood a friend who had visited the day before. This time she wore faded jeans and an old shirt. In her hands she carried a basket.
“I’ve come to trim Candy,” she announced. After a quick “Hi!” to me, she called to our Maltese poodle, whom another visitor had referred to as a miniature sheep. Raylene took the dog into the back yard. When I plucked up energy to investigate, she had Candy standing on the garden table, while she moved around clipping and removing huge chunks of dirty white fur. It really did look like sheep-shearing time had arrived.