Up chicken poo creek

With a paddle.

Since Kevin decided to work outside today (thus ending Kris' and my argument over what needs to get done first - the bathroom or the front yard), I needed to give him the list of things to do:

  • Clear out the rocks in the front yard
  • Move the fertilizer to the front yard
  • Spread said fertilizer
  • Move extra compost and dirt to the front yard to level it

That fertilizer? Well...

Four (yes, four) months ago, Mark came over with a sixty (yes, 60) pound bag of chicken shit, er, poop from his chicken coop. "Makes for a great garden," he said, adding, "or so Megan tells me."

Now, sixty pounds is a little too much for me to carry, so to prevent the dogs from eating all sixty pounds of chicken shit, I put it (pulled it, dragged it, heaved it) into a trash can.

And promptly forgot about it.


Because it's been a really wet spring.

And I didn't have the top on that trash can.

So, the trash can fills up with water. I now have a 3/4 full trash can of 60 pounds of fetid chicken shit soup in my back yard. No one dares lift that lid, for fear of the fetid chicken shit.

No one.

So, back to Kevin.

I told him what I needed done, and before he started, I had to apologize, "I'm about to give you the worst job in all the world."

Doyle heard me and retorted, "Aw, it can't be the worst job in all the world. It's not like he has to swim up a river of shit or anything."

Kevin laughed. He was getting ready to swim.