Shear agony

I’ve had some crappy jobs in my life. I’ve picked citrus with a bracero crew from Mexico and I’ve waded through pig poop for less than minimum wage but by far the worst job I’ve ever had was shearing sheep. I did it because I could shear on weekends and evenings when I wasn’t working in the oilfields. You could say, sheep helped pay for my sheepskin. (Are they even called that anymore? ) I always arrived on time and wired my motor to the cattle racks on my grandpa’s old Ford Econoline which embarrassed me to even be seen inside the cab which, by the way, I shared with the motor. I’m not exaggerating... THE MOTOR WAS INSIDE THE CAB! Don’t ask me why I would one day pay grandpa $600 for the only truck I’ve ever owned that wasn’t a GM product. But I gotta say, as long as you kept the windows open to avoid asphyxiation, old Herbie was the best pickup I’ve ever owned.