Chandra Clarke

Award-winning entrepreneur. Author. Professional Optimist.

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Wool Gathering in the Modern Era

November 10, 2020 By Chandra Clarke 1 Comment

Forget computers. We’ve been there, done that, and downloaded the t-shirt. Ignore energy-efficient non-polluting cars. We’ve been promised those since Henry Ford unleashed the Model-T.

The future, my friends, is in sheep.

No, this is not an attempt to pull the wool over your eyes, or to get you to invest in 4-H stock (or even livestock). I’m talking about how biotechnology is going to revolutionize our lives in ways we haven’t even  begun to think of.

By now everyone will have heard that scientists have successfully cloned — that is, made a duplicate or twin — of a sheep named Dolly. I’m not sure exactly how this works, except to say it involves lots of sheep and complicated mathematics, and that unsuccessful attempts resulted in Shepherd’s Pi. (Which, I’m told, goes well with Mendel’s peas.)

The latest in paddock progress, however, is probably less well-known: scientists created self-shearing sheep.

According to a Reuter’s report, a product that used bio-technology to transform the centuries-old practice of sheep-shearing was brought to market a few years back. Called Bioclip, the process involved injecting sheep with a naturally occurring protein which causes their wool to simply drop out about a week later.

Since I’m a hard-working investigative reporter who strives to bring you accurate news and views, I hastened to the Bioclip test site for an interview. This was difficult to obtain, as the suddenly bare test subjects had taken to hiding behind rocks, well, sheepishly. I did, however, manage to record this conversation (translations courtesy of the Phi Beta Lambda society):

SHEEP1: Baaa! Baa! [Argh! You are buck naked!]

SHEEP2: Baa. Baa-baa! [Ewe are confused. I am a ram, not a buck.]

SHEEP3: Baa! Baa! [We have all been fleeced!]

SHEEP1: Baa-aah. [Hey baby, nice butt chops you got there.]

SHEEP2: BAA! Whack! [You keep your kabobs to yourself, bub.]

Now before all you bleating-heart animal activists start a Save the Sheep campaign, you should know this could actually be a good thing for the critters. Since old-time shearers work at a speed of about four SPM (sheep per minute), shearing means picking up a sheep, spinning it 360 degrees and running the clippers over it. Without the imminent threat of a major case of razor burn, stress-free sheep will be able to relax and focus on grazing — making sheep farms resemble nudist salad bars.

[insert elevator music to accompany that mental image]

This is not to say that self-shearing sheep would be problem-free. With our woolly friends dropping their britches at random, we may see increased cases of mutton dressing up to look like lamb. Wolf populations could skyrocket because of the sudden availability of sheep’s clothing. Poor Wile E. Coyote, already confounded by Sam the Sheepdog, will waste countless hours pouncing on what amount to underdeveloped wool blankets.

Speaking of sheepdogs, scientists have been unable to determine if they would be affected by exposure to Bioclip. It could mean that over a career, a sheepdog might have to resort to a popular baldness medicine (we’ll call it Woofgaine) to deal with doggy pattern baldness, otherwise known as mange.

If that’s the case, it might balance out the sudden drop in cosmetics manufacturing. Many products, as any savvy-shopper will tell you, have lanolin added to them. Since lanolin is basically, well, sheep sweat, and since sheep will be naturally air-conditioned from now on, we’ll have to find a substitute product. Either that or we’ll have to develop exercise videos like Rippling Racks, or Barns of Steel to get them sweatin’ to the oldies.

Sheep shot? Sorry.

Finally, self-shearing sheep will mean the sudden unemployment of hundreds of sheep shearers. As Australia is the world’s largest producer of raw wool, this means unemployment offices will be inundated with people saying things like “G’day mate! ‘Ow’s it goin’ then, oirright?” We could retrain these folks in say, cutlery and flatware sales, because Australians seem to have a natural affinity for this type of work. (“That’s not a knife. This is a knife.”) Alternatively, we could train them to shear other wool-bearing creatures, like camels, and goats. Not rabbits, though, as that would be too much of a hare-raising experience.

And with that, I’ll put this piece out to pasture.

Image by alkemade from Pixabay

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Ewe Kidding, Right?

March 19, 2013 By Chandra Clarke 1 Comment

It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet. I just discovered, thanks to a casual reference on a website, a startling film that may well change the way you look at certain things, as well as change how you live.

No, I’m not talking about the global warming movie, “An Inconvenient Truth.” I’m talking about Jonathan King’s debut feature, “Black Sheep,” wherein a flock of innocent sheep is transformed into a pack of blood-thirsty killers.

Yes, that’s right. It’s a movie about killer sheep. Murdering mutton, if you will.

Reviews suggest that it is “as comical as it is terrifying” and further that “it is an outstanding contribution to the livestock gone amuck horror genre.”

Let me start by saying I didn’t know there even *was* a “livestock gone amuck” horror genre. Admittedly, it’s been a long time since I visited a video store, but I’m sure I’d remember a whole section of films like “When Good Ducks Go Bad” and “Goat Gore III — This Time The Humans Get Sacrificed.”

I haven’t seen the film yet, so I can only speculate as to the content. Do the sheep dress up in wolf’s clothing to fool unsuspecting farmers? Or do they simply pull the wool over the eyes of the local villagers? Or do they — yes, you’ve guessed it — show up as mutton dressed up like lamb, pretending innocence until they can do their worst?

And exactly how do sheep become killers, anyway? Your average sheep, even if full of murderous intent, is hardly well-equipped in the fang and claw department. Do the victims get flocked ’til they drop? Will we be introduced to a hitherto unknown martial art called “Nok Ewe Doun” (feature move: the mutton chop)? Perhaps the sheep gang up on their prey, taking them one at a time, and stretch them out on some torture device – for instance a rack… of lamb.

Presumably at some point in the movie, the humans stop being woolly-headed about their predicament. At that point they’ll be able to fight back, and the show will end with our heroes (probably a hunky young farmer and his trusty border collie) contemplating a six-month supply of shepherd’s pie. The peace will last until the movie producers read a follow-up story about Dolly the sheep and come up with: “Black Sheep: Episode II — Attack of the Clones.”

So how will this movie change your life? Well for one thing, if you go see this flick, you won’t ever be able to count sheep to fall asleep again. You may wake up in the middle of the night to find your toddler having nightmares too. “But everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to follow, mommy!”

If the movie becomes a hit, the tabloids will never be the same; we’ll be awash in sheep celeb stories. There will be a headline about a sheep who goes bankrupt, but who is discovered to have a closet full of Ray Baaan sunglasses. The Internet will be flooded with bootleg copies of a video of a private shearing session between the movie’s star sheep and several, ahem, “sheep of the night.”

And inevitably, there will be at least one of the flock who hits the sheep dip a little too hard. He’ll wrap his Lamborghini around a telephone pole one night, get arrested and make headlines for mouthing off about how the cows are responsible for all the wars of the world. Or worse, he’ll lead the police on a high speed chase across town, trying to take it on the lamb.

Right, I know, I’m sorry – this whole column has been full of sheep shots. I guess I just don’t want you to come away from this piece the way I’m sure you’ll come away from the movie.

Feeling fleeced.

Image by scott payne from Pixabay

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Clone Your Own

December 14, 2011 By Chandra Clarke 4 Comments

Image credit: Pixabay

It’s been hard to read the newspapers here lately, because for several weeks the headlines have been exactly the same. On Mondays it’s: Major Corporation Admits It ‘Misplaced’ Several Billion Dollars. On Tuesdays, it’s: Shareholders Chase CEO to Mexican Border, Threaten Hanging. On Wednesdays, it’s: Celebrity Chef Denies Cooking Books; Says He Only Sauteed Them In A Light Apricot Sauce.

So, it’s with no small amount of irony that I noticed one story that stood out in all that sameness: it was about cloning.

The Russians, it seems, lost one of their most famous trees to a fire. It had been a large and rather magnificent mulberry tree, and was reputed to have inspired the legendary poet Aleksandr Pushkin to write one of his most famous poems, which actually featured a giant oak tree. Scientists were going to try to clone the tree from living tissue found in the burnt stump.

To me, this says two things: 1) Isn’t modern science amazing? and 2) Never trust a poet to keep his trees straight.

Now, lots of people will try to tell you that cloning is weird, or just ‘not right,’ but personally I think the technology has just gotten a bad rap. This is because the first creature ever cloned was a sheep. This was a silly move because A) As New Zealanders will tell you, we already have too many sheep and B) Sheep already looked too much alike — not even sheep can tell one from another. Don’t believe me? Next time you visit your neighbourhood sheep shop, just yell “Hey ewe!” They’ll all reply.

No, I think scientists would be far better off cloning things that we can all use on a daily basis. For example:

Car keys — I cannot go four weeks straight without ‘misplacing’ my car keys. This means I either need to get a key cloner, or I’d make a great car company CEO.

Lamb curry — Instead of cloning sheep, I’d like to be able to clone the dish of lamb curry I made in 1998, because it was the only time I ever got the recipe exactly right.

First holiday — Wouldn’t it be great to be able to make copies of that feeling you had as a kid when you experienced your first birthday party? Or your first beach vacation? So you could break open a copy on days when you really need a pick-me-up, like when your quarterly investment statement shows up in the mail?

Extinct Animals —Forget silly horror stories like Jurassic Park, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could bring back animals that we’ve driven to extinction? Like, say, the dodo bird? What’s that you say? We have enough of those in government?

Socks — The next time I buy a pair of socks, I want to clone 12 copies of the left one. This is because my dryer keeps eating all my left socks. Don’t tell me that’s not true, I can see the remnants in the lint trap.

Ice Cubes — Why would I want to clone ice cubes? Because as I write this it’s 10°C (111°F) outside. I live in Canada. It’s winter. Something is very, very wrong here.

Dust Bunnies — No, wait — they clone themselves. Never mind.

Desk Space — Because you never, ever, have enough desk space.

Money — Do I have to explain this one?

Mittens — See Socks, above.

For Women — Wouldn’t it be great if we could clone several thousand copies of a young, cute, single, well-built, intelligent, sensitive man? The trick here, of course, would be finding the source material.

For Men — Wouldn’t it be great if we could clone several thousand copies of a young, single, blonde woman measuring 40-18-32, with multiple career talents and a great kitchen? Hang on, we have! Her name is Barbie.

Blue jeans — In a lifetime of shopping, the average woman finds exactly one pair of jeans that both look good and fit properly. When she does, the company will immediately cease making them. The ability to clone that magic pair would save women thousands of dollars.

And hey, isn’t cloning jeans what it’s all about?

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