It didn’t take long yesterday, after I closed the north door and locked the sheep in, for the barn to get a cozy, comfortable feeling. This is not, generally, the feeling you strive for in a barn on the eve of Memorial Day weekend. But with temperatures in the 40s and a cold, steady pelting rain it was most welcome, I think for the sheep as well as for me.

Lately I’ve added to my evening chore routine trimming the hooves of one or two sheep per day. It has to happen every few months, and I could see recently, as some of their hooves began to resemble those Ottoman slippers with the upturned toes (the design of which I am certain was inspired by overgrown sheep hooves) that the time had come.

Sometimes it can be exhausting to do just one ewe. I have to catch her, and move her against her will toward the chair contraption with a seat made of a net sling (pictured above) that I use to immobilize them. I’d estimate the typical adult ewe is 80 or 90 pounds live weight, strong and resistant. I have to turn her around and get her to back into the chair and tip her up so that she ends up in the net sling on her back with feet in the air. On a hot day, with sweat running down into my eyes and unable to let go of my chosen victim for a moment, that part is work enough.

Once in the chair, most sheep are sufficiently impatient with being in such an unaccustomed position that they writhe and try to escape. In doing so, they risk injury by getting their legs caught in the wrong way in the netting or behind the bars of the chair. Unhappy at the unusual sensation of a device working at their feet, they may kick at me or otherwise injure me or themselves by making the sharp trimming sheers slip.

To keep them still I need to keep the full weight of my body against them as I work, because if the pressure lets up for an instant they sense opportunity to escape. As I move in response to their writhings, we may end up with limbs intertwined in contorted postures, all akimbo. To keep them calm as I work I whisper soothing nothings to them: “Good girl.” “You’re doing great.” “Almost there.” When I succeed at asserting my authority, they let me know by nibbling at my ears or clothing. At the end, we’re both exhausted.

To the extent these images evoke sexual themes in your mind, calm those kinky thoughts! If you want a clear vision of how this process goes, go in a more comedic direction. The mechanical challenges of hoof trimming I’ve just described obviously preclude my taking any selfies during the procedure to illustrate my description. But if you want to visualize this process check out the classic 1932 W.C. Fields short movie, The Dentist, in which one of Field’s patients, played by Elise Cavanna, writhes in and out of the dental chair as he extracts a tooth. That episode dominates the third quarter of film, but I suggest you treat yourself to the entire masterpiece, available on You Tube. It’s only 22 minutes long.

Cocooned in the barn during the early evening yesterday, warmed by the heat given off by the gathered herd, working on the second ewe, I achieved a kind of nirvana. She stopped writhing. as she nibbled on my sleeve. Her hooves trimmed easily. It was satisfying to extract trapped clods of dirt from under her overgrown hooves and from the space between her two toes. I found myself wondering why I found such peace in a moment of intimate domination of a creature of another species. Why, I wondered, should this activity seem to me something worthwhile to do?

My shrink has discouraged this kind of questioning, which he sees as undermining my life choices. Why ask what makes it valid to want to do something, he asks? Why not just admit to myself this is something I enjoy doing and want to find a way to make part of my life going forward? Why does it have to mean anything at all?

Sorry doctor, I can’t help it. As I worked, it occurred to me that at least pa