January 24, 2013
I know this seems like an odd topic for a blog post, but it’s one worth discussing. “Stepping in shit” has many meanings, like getting in trouble, or finding yourself in a bad situation. But it also means the literal definition—the real McCoy, the stinky stuff. SHIT!
As you go through life you’ll discover that stepping in shit is unavoidable, like taxes and death. I don’t care how hard you try, at one point in your life you will step in some shit. And when you step in it, whether it’s real or metaphorical, you have two choices—clean it up, or buy new shoes.
I have stepped in shit six times in my life. Yes, I’ve counted them. I hate it so much that each memory is burned into my brain, like an ongoing nightmare. I do everything to avoid it.
- I don’t venture out at night without a flashlight, unless my movements are restricted to sidewalks.
- I never go out in bare feet. God forbid an accident should happen.
- I walk with my eyes glued to the ground.
Despite my precautions, accidents have happened. Six miserable times.
If you do the math, that’s about once every ten years that I’ve slipped up and put my foot down into something rancid and foul. When it happens, those shoes are gone. No cleaning them off. They’re like burnt toast and cold coffee—garbage bound. (Another reason I don’t risk the barefoot stuff)
You might think this is a major problem being on an animal sanctuary with 46 animals, but it’s not as big a problem as you think. If I had only pigs it would be no problem at all. I—
Okay, move aside, Giacomo. Let me tell this story.
The Real Story—No Bull…
Hi, it’s me, Dennis. Now you’ll get the straight shit…I mean scoop.
I heard Giacomo yakking about this the other day and I told him, “If you’re gonna do a blog about shit, you better let me tell it.”
Somebody had to set the record straight about pigs and shit. Yeah, I’ve heard all the sayings, like “Happier than a pig in shit.” And let me tell you, they’re all full of …well you know what. I talked about some of those other sayings here.
So, getting back to the shit…Giacomo visits me all the time, and when he does, he can walk freely around my pen. I do my business in one small spot. Only! Furthest spot from where I eat. What civilized person wouldn’t?
The Rest of the Bunch
There are 8 more wild pigs in the back of the property. I call them the “Wild Bunch.” They do their business in two small corners. One is on the east side, maybe 150 feet away from their house, and the other spot is at the furthest part of their property about 500 feet away. Giacomo can walk anywhere else and have no fear. Don’t believe me? Check out this article from the World Animal Foundation.
With the damn dogs, Giacomo’s lucky to get through the family room, or as they now refer to it, the dog room. The front of the property is off limits because of the horse—he’ll go anywhere. And Giacomo won’t dare go into the back yard without his glasses, because without his glasses he can’t see shit. Literally! (See, pigs have a sense of humor, too. At least extremely handsome magnificent wild boars named Dennis, do.)
What’s the Point?
The point is this… Your path through life is going to be riddled with shit. And no matter how careful you are, no matter how meticulous, you will step in shit now and then. When you do, be prepared to clean it up—or buy new shoes. That’s the way life is.
Ciao, and thanks for stopping by to see me,