Nathaniel glided his thumb along the shears’ edge, but was unsatisfied with the result and proceeded to work them in his hand. He ran the open shears through his thick head of hair several times, trying to gain some oil on the hinge. “Will do another year,” he said, squinting at the shears. “Now, you bring me down a lamb there, boy, we’ll fix them one at a time.”
My eyes blurred and my mouth throbbed as I lifted up a lamb. It struggled in my arms, opening up its mouth and bleating so hard its grey-pink tongue turned to red. I looked at the lamb and back to Nathaniel. I did not want to let it free but was panicked by more of Nathaniel’s shouts.
“Well, don’t just stand there watching the beast whimper,” he said, “get it down before me.”
I took down the lamb as my mouth filled with blood.
