Regular Farm Dirt

 We have two fantastic pure bred English Shepards. They are amazing farm dogs. They are hyper vigilant watch dogs. They know the sound of every car within a mile radius and they bark only when they need to alert us. 

Cooper and Penny love to play, roam and push the chickens to their coop (unless they are told not to). They are kenneled at night, as they are both young, and Cooper has an affliction for shoes, as he misses his people while they sleep. 

It’s been a busy week and weekend. I haven’t slept much. It’s not for lack of trying. Sleep just continues to evade me. Friday I couldn’t get to sleep. Saturday night I had a terrible nightmare, which is unusual for me. It woke me up, heart pounding. I don’t think I slept, but minutes after that 2:01 wake up. Sunday night, I tossed and turned. 

Last night, no matter what I tried, I couldn’t fall asleep. My brain was going, but exhausted. I finally gave up. I decided to convince myself to get up and do something constructive. I have a book. I’ll read, I thought. I was about to grab the book off my nightstand, and Silas comes into our room. “Mom! The dog had diarrhea in his kennel. Can you help me clean it?!”

Sure bud. Sure. It’s 12:50. I’d love to scrub up some dog crap. 

I throw on some sweat pants and head downstairs. The odor of dog waste curls my nose. Cooper stands in his kennel ashamed that he’s soiled himself. Poor guy.

We let him out. Silas finds some pet bath wipes to clean up his majestically tragic tail. 

I grab the tray in the bottom of the kennel. The wire kennel is wonky. Because it’s 1am, I’m exhausted and super irritated. The tray catches on the wire. Of course it does. 

The contents of the tray, slip slide and land not so neatly on the floor and rug beneath the kennel. Of course they do. 

I finally wrestle the poop tray out of the kennel. Carrying it outside proves to be an equal challenge. There’s now waste running down my entry way wall. While washing walls isn’t my favorite chore, it becomes so much more enjoyable in the middle of the night. 

The crap on the floor and rug are a real treat to wash up as well! 

After getting the inside of the house somewhat returned to the normal level of farm dirt, I find my cowboy boots and head outside.

There’s a reason these boots are nicknamed “shit kickers”. 

It’s rained. The grass is longish and soaked. The sky is dark, as well, night. But darker, because it’s overcast. 

Without a flash light, I’m pretty much running the risk to trip and break MY wrist, and at this point, I’m just going to send it. 

I drag that kennel liner coated in crap over to the windmill. I yank the pump handle—I have no idea where the waters going, and at this point I don’t care. If it sprays me it’ll save me the time to shower. 

I can hear the water. I’m safe. I grab the hose and and let the powerful jet wash the remainder of the waste from that tray. 

Silas comes out, donning a flashlight, right as the tray is clean. Thanks bud.

I put a towel under the kennel, leave the dog under the supervision of Si and climb the stairs back to bed. 

2 hours go by. 

This is what I know:

I’m still awake.

I’m pre-writing a blog post about dog crap in my head. 

Penny is in heat, safely diapered in her kennel. 

Would diapers work for diarrhea dogs too?! I wonder? Nah, that’s a terrible idea. Ish. 

I need coffee already tomorrow. Lots of it.

4:15 am. Allen gets up to go to the bathroom. The dog has been sick again. I let him take a turn.

Fitfully, I wait for both of our alarms to ring. They do. Annoyingly. 

I make coffee. A kennel check reveals no further accidents. Thank you, Lord. Notice I made coffee first? Priorities. 

I bring Silas to his orthopedic appointment. We get good news there too. The arm is healing. Praise God. 

We go to the coffee shop, and I’ve earned it, I tell myself. I tell the barista I’m tired. Caffeine me. 

I move aside to the pickup area. 

Without paying. 

I stand at the pickup area for long enough to see Silas’ drink come up. It dawns on me. My word. 

I look at the barista, who waits on me 4 days a week, and I profusely apologize. She’s politely amused, and I’m sure, she’s secretly questioning every interaction we’ve had until this point. 

Guys. I tried to shoplift from a coffee shop. The day can only get better from here!