Stools (and I don't mean for sitting)

This is a photo of me patiently waiting for my opportunity to carry the smallest human around and around and around the yard. The yard, I have been disturbed to learn, is populated with slimy landmines.

It turns out that dog feces are rather a lot more repulsive than mule feces, rendering a circuit of the yard FAR more treacherous than a circuit of the pasture. FarmWife, luckily, is in possession of a shovel, a good eye for poop piles, and a strong stomach.

I waited and waited, then waited some more, until FarmWife came proudly up to announce that she had vanquished ALL the poop.

Then . . . and this is the truly tragic twist . . . I stepped in some. Right up to my precious little coronet band! I got a hoof bath that day, and FarmWife promised to scoop with more vigilance. I certainly hope so!

Ears,
FenBar