“The circle, the circle of life.”
To start this tale, I declare that nature is a toilet to us all: The bats and the bees, the buffaloes and the bunnies. All allow their excrement to return home to whither it once sprung. But this, my confidants, has nothing to do with the deposits of animals. No siree! Instead, it has everything with one of my dearest daughters.
One day a long, long time ago, today in fact, my pretty princess was powerless to power herself to an indoor potty; hence a long log exited her rump swiftly into the cool winter air and gently landed on a mound of grass. A run inside for a wet wipe by yours truly led to my sanitizing her seat in order for outdoor play time to commence.
My next move would be locating a shovel to slip under the number two, to fling it over the hillside and send it to its final decomposition place.
“I don’t think you have to worry about it,” Dave’s words plink chaotically into my mind. I turn. Archie, my beautiful good boi, best bed cuddler, is posturing directly above a vacant spot where the turd once rested.
The end.
Now! An equally fascinating story, and with zero yuck factor, is of a gentleman that came on the scene picking up a board game we offered freely on a community site.
“Oh, you have ducks,” the man stated, landing his gaze on our flock on the front lawn. “Yes, we do,” Dave glanced at the billed, orange-footed, waddle-tailed waggers. Then the man said, “And a rooster?” His raised eyebrows, tilted head, and shaky inflection leaked a less-than-secure stance. “Yes,” Dave said, likely reflecting on the evidence right before him: the bird’s swooping tail, pointy beak, and leather stick-like stander uppers. Then, what came next? Extraterrestrials on other varied planets are still dissecting. “Like a duck rooster?” Dave revealed his cards without a blink, “No, it’s a chicken rooster.”
Once again, life reveals itself in the most mysterious of ways.
It’s been a good day. Take care.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 