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Plumbing

Not to be indelicate, but I take marvelous care of my leavings. I organize them into a tidy stack in a small, dry corner of my shed. I pile them neatly, leaving them undisturbed for future collection via wheelbarrow. FarmWife comes once or twice a week to take them away to the compost pile, which is really a rather relaxed schedule. If I were a messier mule, I'd expect her to attend my droppings daily.

The mucking out of manure is quick as a flash due to my foresight and consideration, but the cleaning up of urine is another matter entirely. FarmWife spent so much time trying to reengineer my pee-puddle yesterday that she might as well have gone ahead and installed a toilet. You see, I like to pee in one particular spot. This spot is neither at the top of a hill, where runoff would naturally take place, nor at the bottom of a hill, where it would be out of sight and out of mind. It is, instead, at the entrance to my shed where A) passersby must walk; B) food must be supped upon; C) level gravel absorbs and holds moisture.

Yesterday, FarmWife scraped out all the sloppy bits, dug a channel six inches wide and deep enough to create a downhill-flow, and hosed my puddle off to wash away the stink. So far, so good. Now, we'll see how that lasts.

If not, I think we'll look into getting one of these:


Ears to you,
Fenway Bartholomule

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