(Another) Crisis Of Masculinity

Weak thighs and scary YouTube videos lead to demotion from Chief Drencher to deckchair filler.

- Greg Dixon

‘I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want you to do it,” Michele said. I knew what that meant, but I wanted her to say it out loud, so I asked, “What don’t you want me to do?” She put down the garden hose and turned to look at me. “I don’t,” she said firmly, “want you to drench our lambs.” So ended Act II, Scene Two from my crisis of masculinity.

Scene One had played out the day before when Miles the sheep farmer appeared out of the afternoon heat haze just as I was about to mow the long driveway verges and weed-eat around the letterbox.

I was dressed in my dark-blue boiler suit, made of thick, heavy cotton, and my black gumboots. He, more sensibly, was in shorts, a light, collared shirt, his trademark bucket hat and dark glasses. “Rather hot to be doing that,” he said, sensibly, gesturing at the ride-on. “It’s not that hot,” I lied.

Miles had just brought the ewe and ram lambs back from his place after drenching them, but he had a question for me. Would I be able to drench our three lambs that had been left behind at our place?