I don’t think one needs own a farm to understand, with clarity, the voluminous quantities of poop the average animal deposits in a multitude of rather surprising locations.
On rare occasion, “Fido,” (names have been changed to protect the innocent,) the family’s beloved, “beagledor,” has managed to surprise even me by depositing said poop in the right shoe of my favorite pair of handcrafted, fleece lined, sheepskin slippers.
I genuinely believe that it was not deposited out of malice, because, “Fido,” has been a true compatriot when it comes to, (in self defense despite what the Mrs. would say,) innocent mischief around the house. He’s a good boy, and a real wise guy too. No, it wasn’t malice, it was more akin to, “Hey Papa, how’s that for some quality aiming?”
50 years ago, I lived in a farmhouse on Bluff Road outside of Vermillion, South Dakota. I met many farmers and worked for some of them, having a few funny adventures doing that. It always seemed like Mark and I worked together on these jobs—two hippies in jeans, flannel shirts, and ponytails.
One hot summer day, we were loading hay bales onto a trailer that the farmer was towing with his tractor. Those bales are heavy. Mark picked one up. A rattlesnake's head and 6 inches of its body stuck up out of the bale. The snake's head was even with Mark's crotch.
Mark dropped the bale and fainted dead away.
I just looked at the snake trapped in the hay bale. He was a very unhappy rattler.
The farmer pulled out a machete and cut off the snake's head. He then threw some water on Mark's face, waking him up.
Great article on the hobby farm that teaches people about agriculture! I spottily remembered that from many months ago. It was good to catch up with it.
"They are so convinced of their superiority, they never bother to look." Great line about our "elites".
Always a fan of succinct summation.
I don’t think one needs own a farm to understand, with clarity, the voluminous quantities of poop the average animal deposits in a multitude of rather surprising locations.
On rare occasion, “Fido,” (names have been changed to protect the innocent,) the family’s beloved, “beagledor,” has managed to surprise even me by depositing said poop in the right shoe of my favorite pair of handcrafted, fleece lined, sheepskin slippers.
I genuinely believe that it was not deposited out of malice, because, “Fido,” has been a true compatriot when it comes to, (in self defense despite what the Mrs. would say,) innocent mischief around the house. He’s a good boy, and a real wise guy too. No, it wasn’t malice, it was more akin to, “Hey Papa, how’s that for some quality aiming?”
Did I say wise guy, or was that wisenheimer?
Thanks for your post, it was inspiring.
Wisenheimer...newest AKC breed (Not for Show!)
😂 Excellent commentary!
50 years ago, I lived in a farmhouse on Bluff Road outside of Vermillion, South Dakota. I met many farmers and worked for some of them, having a few funny adventures doing that. It always seemed like Mark and I worked together on these jobs—two hippies in jeans, flannel shirts, and ponytails.
One hot summer day, we were loading hay bales onto a trailer that the farmer was towing with his tractor. Those bales are heavy. Mark picked one up. A rattlesnake's head and 6 inches of its body stuck up out of the bale. The snake's head was even with Mark's crotch.
Mark dropped the bale and fainted dead away.
I just looked at the snake trapped in the hay bale. He was a very unhappy rattler.
The farmer pulled out a machete and cut off the snake's head. He then threw some water on Mark's face, waking him up.
"Get back to work." He said.
Farm Life Happens...
Even happier now to have been raised on a poultry farm.
Great article on the hobby farm that teaches people about agriculture! I spottily remembered that from many months ago. It was good to catch up with it.
That was her first one. Her newest was just posted on TFP.
Just saw the new one on the FP home page. Looks like she'll be a regular columnist for them.