A "behind"-the-scenes look at the state fair.

Many of you know that D's job as a vet requires me to participate in some activities that 1.) I never imagined I would have to 2.) I never knew existed.

This past Friday night, we got a two-fer-one.

One of the benefits of his job is that we get free entrance and rock-star parking in the state fair.  We are frequent fair-goers.  Like at least 3-4 times a season (The people watching is fantastic.  The probability of seeing another wardrobe malfunction such as this is high and likely and fantastic.)

We spent our evening browsing, figuring out a path of greasy deliciousness.  We got our Gator-Taters.  Didn't get a picture, but don't worry.  We will go back and I will get them again. They are that good.  We also got a funnel cake.  By the time I was done, it looked like I had a bad incident while snorting crack.  The sugar was ev-er-y-where.  And it was amazing.

We were just about to leave when a sobbing girl came up and told Dave that there was something wrong with her sheep.  I am going to bypass the beginning of the story to get to the good stuff.  But, there was some awkward lifting and moving of the sheep, some squeezing that resulted in some nasty smells, and some crying after the dad of the girl just kept saying, "Let's just slaughter it.  Slaughter.  Slaughter.  Slaughter."

I can't quite figure out the necessity of these outfits.  I think these are the sheep that perform acrobatics.  Not intended for use on humans.

Now, for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of growing up on a farm or living with a vet,  there are some things about sheep you should know.  When a wether (a castrated male sheep) gets stones in its little guy, it is a bad deal.  It means surgery or death (unless the stone is in a place where the vet can massage it out.  Side eye to D--was not aware that that type of massage was part of the job description.  Ultimately, the family decided on surgery (since the girl was bawling.her.eyes.out).

We drove down to the clinic and Dave began the surgery.  The name of the surgery is something to the effect of "penial reconstruction."  Dave calls it a "weiner-ectomy."  Pretty sure that's not the scientific name. So, Dave spent the next hour or so reconstructing the poor sheep's junk.  He had to cut down his guy (trying not to use that word because that will change the "family-friendly" rating of this blog).  Now, instead of peeing like a normal male sheep, it pees out between his buttcheeks.

Seriously, can anyone top that for a weekend story?  Unfortunately, I cannot use this as a story to model writing on Monday.  It would be a great story though.

And, after this, I am reminded of the importance of people washing their hands.