Oct 13 2009
And you might think that the biggest beasts are the worst offenders. But mucking horse stalls isn’t as bad as you’d think. In fact I’ve grown to enjoy it.
Plus mucking guarantees 20 minutes of peace and solitude. No one wants to be around when you’re flinging great mounds of manure and urine-soaked bedding through the air. Scooping poop is an escape from toddler demands, vibrating cell phones and blaring tv commercials. A temporary reprieve from the food-encrusted dishes teetering in the sink and the funky-smelling laundry forgotten in the washing machine. There’s dinner that no one’s planned — much less cooked — a kitchen trash can that screams to be emptied, and a patchwork of muddy paw prints on the floor.
It’s when the cat food rattles in the bowls and I extract my legs from the purring fur that it hits me:
The barn is done. It’s time to go back inside. And face the insanity.