The Manure Monster

Ransom minded his own business as we trekked down from the North barn, until we got to where the manure truck was usually parked. Right now it was either fertilizing the back pasture or in the repair shop.

Never-mind that we walked past this every day; clearly a new monster had moved into the small left-over manure pile. Ransom pushed his shoulder into my space to skirt away from it, eyes wide and radar ears on high alert.

I sighed. With children I’d call this a teachable moment. I wasn’t about to waste this one. I sent him onto a small circle to traverse a course through the smelly stuff and up over the small ledge of the hill. Ransom snorted and stepped gingerly into the decomposing footing.

How many circles does it take to conquer the manure monster? In this case, about twenty. Around and around he went. Stop, spook, leap. Stop, spook, leap. Hit the end of the leadrope. Balk. Whip swish. Scramble. Stop, look, think. Sniff. Oh. Step up nonchalantly. Repeat on other side.

I patted him on the neck and walked the few remaining steps into the main barn. Such a baby.