SKIRMISHER

I’ve been thinking about the first time I castrated a lamb with my teeth. (It’s a real job, I swear.) I was anxious, and judging by the sounds coming from the lamb, I wasn’t the only one. He was propped up on the fence rail, pinned in place by a cheerful rancher named Albert, who was holding the animal’s legs apart for my convenience. The blood in Albert’s mustache was still wet from his demonstration moments before, and he spoke in a way that reminded me of the directions on a bottle of shampoo. “Grab scrotum. Cut tip. Expose testicles. Bend over. Bite down. Snap your head back. Spit testicles into bucket. Rinse and Repeat.”

— Mike Rowe, on how much he luuuuvs his dirty job

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