Back in 1976, while the world was watching Rocky and America was celebrating its bicentennial, I was making history of my own… one sheep at a time. Take that however you will…
That’s right. I was crowned Indiana State Sheep Trimming Champion.
Let that soak in.
Most people peak in high school sports or land a starring role in a school play.
Me?
I rose to fame in a livestock barn, clippers in hand, sweat on my brow, fluff flying like cottonwood in July.
Somewhere between 4-H meetings and wrangling 400 sheep on our family farm, I discovered I had a real gift—not for showmanship or sales—but for shaping wool into high art.
My personal form of ‘Shear Madness’.
From the Fleece Up: A Farm Boy Origin Story
My dad (for reasons unknown to me) decided we would raise sheep. We had lots of them.
And like every good farm family, we entered our best into the county fairs. My siblings and I were part of the great 4-H tradition, learning life lessons through livestock—and the fine line between a blue ribbon and “maybe next year.”
Trimming a show sheep isn’t just a haircut. It’s a performance. An audition for a woolly Oscar.
You need the finesse of a sculptor, the eye of a tailor, and the stubborn resolve of a mule. One wrong flick of the clippers and suddenly your sheep looks like it lost a bar fight with a weed whacker.
But I had the touch. I had the form. I was… the sheep whisper?
And in 1976, the judges agreed.
The Golden Clippers
There was no televised award ceremony. No trophy girl in sequins handing me a bouquet. But there was a trophy! And a memory that stuck tighter than lanolin on wool.
To this day, that win remains one of my most obscure—but most beloved—titles. Right up there with “Dad,” “Wellness Coach,” and “Guy Who Trains Like He’s Still in His 30s.”
What Sheep Taught Me About Life
Here’s the thing. Trimming sheep teaches you a lot about people.
- Some are jumpy. Some are stubborn. Some just poop on your boots and walk away.
- You learn how to work with what you’ve got—flaws, patches, odd angles and all.
- And you realize that, often, what matters most is how you show up—prepared, patient, and ready to clean up the mess.
Fleece and Fame: My Platform for Sheep Jokes
Of course, now that I’m an “award-winning trimmer,” it’s only right I use this platform responsibly.
That means giving the people what they want: tasteful, possibly inappropriate, sheep humor.
“Why don’t sheep shrink in the rain?”
Because they use woolite.
“What do you call a sheep covered in chocolate?”
A candy baa.
“What do you get when you cross a sheep and a comedian?”
A baaad joke.
Okay, okay—I’ll stop. (But I won’t promise I won’t shear some more in future posts.)
Full Circle: Still Livin’ Best Life
Believe it or not, that moment—standing proud with a clipped sheep and a ribbon—helped shape the way I approach life now:
- Care about the details. They matter.
- Finish what you start—even if it stinks. (And believe me, a sheep barn in August stinks.)
- Be proud of weird victories. They make the best stories.
And if all else fails, remember this:
You don’t have to be flashy to be legendary.
Sometimes, all it takes is a sharp blade, a steady hand, and a sheep that trusts you not to buzz its backside too close.
Until Next Time…
May your clippers stay sharp, your memories stay funny, and your stories get better with time.
And yes, I still have the trophy.
🐑✂️
Brian
