A Plop in the Poop
Written 9/8/1994 with revisions 7/18/2021
It was a winter day, a very nippy one at that. Around 4 pm, when the sun was already set or nearly setting. I had to go to the barn to do chores. All our animals water containers needed defrosting because temps had been beyond below freezing.
I had to help my brother every time our calves’ water tank needed refilling. This day was no exception. I had to climb over a palleted fence with my short legs and top heavy body to get to the tank, then walk over aged mounds of manure that were piled high. I told my brother it was full enough and started back to the palleted fence.
Arriving at the fence, I could not find a foothold like was available on the opposite side. I tried putting my hands atop the fence and heaving my right leg up and over but lost control. Realizing nearly too late that I was off balance and headfirst careening towards a wheelbarrow full of manure.
The “tub of terror” was within mere inches of my eyes. I struggled in the final few seconds to right myself and get far away from the rank pile. I managed to pull myself up further and then jump to unsoiled ground. My near poop plunge was never far from my mind when doing chores. From then on, I found a different entry and exit route learning that Parkour was not in my future.
