Editorial: Editor shears Fergus

My duvet was starting to feel like the duvet of a 19-year-old dairy farmer who stays warm with the dirt built up on his skin. And with Briscoes selling 100% wool duvet inners for $129, I thought cuddling up to the wool of Massey’s mascot, Fergus the Ram, every night would be worth all the money in the world.  

I went into Fergus’ paddock one morning and he was looking rather fluffy. His curly mullet and wool looked so soft and irresistible in the wind. Living in the city for three years, I had forgotten what it’s like for the countryside folk, the farmers. The up and down weather of Wellington manipulated by seasonal perception. 

So later that day, while Fergus was having his afternoon nap, I sheared him. I sheared him down to the skin. It was a sight for sore eyes. I slept wonderfully in my Fergus wool duvet, dreaming of the sheared ram. But I awoke to a screaming, shivering Fergus in my face.  

“Sammy, how could you?! It’s April. I’m freezing. And the sheep won’t leave me alone. My naked body is too irresistible,” Fergus wept at my bedside.  

“Fergus, I’m so sorry,” I said, but I couldn’t hide my smirk. A sheared Fergus in my bedroom was very distracting.  

The only solution was for Fergus to get in bed with me and cuddle up in his very own wool.