Today is one of those days. We are holed up in our singlewide like a family of antisocial badgers or something. Its nearly 2 pm and I'm still in my jammies. Ahhhh, hell. Who cares?
I was reminiscing a bit more about the good old days on the farm. I remember one of our favourite activities as kids was manure fights. Yes, that is right. We threw shit at each other. You may think that is the most disgusting, insane thing you've ever heard. You could be right. Let me explain, however, as there is a good theory behind this.
You've probably heard about mud fights. Good clean fun, er, good fun anyway. But there is a problem with mud fights. Nobody really hates getting a bit of mud thrown at them. I mean, it might soil your clothes a bit, but its not the end of the world. In fact, if you are a grubby farm kid than you've probably got a bit of mud on you already. There is no real challenge in it, as people don't try to avoid being hit by mud at all costs.
Now shit on the other hand, that is a different story. There is NOBODY that likes being plastered with shit. Its just human nature I 'spose. Start a manure fight and you'll really see the shit hit the fan. Its ingenious, really. People will scream, run, leap, contort and wail in despair and disgust. They will stop at nothing to avoid the wrath of a big steaming ball of turd. I am not sure who started the first shit fight (well, I have my suspicions) but it soon snowballed from there.
Some of the more memorable shit fight moments...
I recall a summer when 2 of my girlfriends were out for a visit. I would have been about 12 at the time. We had our usual fun of running through the oat field after pheasants and playing with colts. We were dirty, wild and free. Sometime during the afternoon Ma's co-worker stopped by with his kids. Amongst his offspring was a girl our age. She was a city kid, through and through. She'd recently had her hair permed. If you've ever had your hair permed (or watched the stunning legal defense on Legally Blonde) you know that you can't wash your hair for a few days after the treatment. So lets imagine the worst possible thing for newly permed hair...yup, that's right. Shit. And what a shit fight we had. Poor city girl didn't know what hit her.
Fast forward a few years later when I was about 14. My family and I went camping out west. We were camping alongside one of my friends, Squeaker, who was involved in the aforementioned shit fight. Oh yes, another fight broke loose. This time we plastered, yes, plastered my Unc Tim's pickup from one end to the other with horse shit. He was none too pleased. I also thought it would be a great idea to give BroLo a face wash in the poo. He would have been about 11 at the time. I recall the wrath of Ma when she discovered her youngest covered in turds when we were stuck way out in the mountains without running water. I believe she hauled him down to the creek and made him wash his face in ice cold glacial run off. heh heh heh
Fast forward a few more years. I am now in college, home for a visit with my future husband. I believe it was one of his first visits out to the farm. The poor bastard didn't know what was coming. We went for a walk so I could show him around the farm. As he was gingerly shimmy-ing through the barbed wire fence I innocently dropped a horse nugget down the back of his shirt. I was unprepared for the reaction. Although his parents farmed he was raised in town, far from the clutches of shit. He reacted with a violent spasm that sent him hurtling full force into the barbed wire fence, tangling his clothes and ripping his shirt. He glared at me accusingly asking "Who would do something like that?" (very Austin Powers-esque "Who throws a shoe?") I think it was nearly the end of our relationship right then and there. But alas, it was the true test of love, because he forgave me and years later he is still suffering from my very unusual sense of humour.
The most recent poop fight would be this past spring at a BBQ held in honour of BroMo's completion of his degree. As per family tradition we had an "Amazing Race" in his honour. This is basically my family's cooky tradition of planning an uber competitive scavenger hunt and using any excuse (ie. birthday, degree completion, Easter, anniversary) to put one on. One of the tasks had us running through the horse pasture in search of the next clue. BroMo's team was on their way back to the house as my team was just heading into the field. I needed to stall them. What did I do?? My first instinct, of course. I grabbed the nearest horse turd and winged it at BroMo's head. He hesitated, dodged left and right. I threw a few more handfulls. Sure, it didn't stop him in his tracks, but he was momentarily thrown off course. I believe the worst of it was that he had invited his friends, nice, clean girls from Calgary, out to this party. I am sure they were horrified to see a baleyard squatting burly mama throwing fistfulls of feces. To those girls...I am truly sorry.
I'll admit it. I love poop fights. I know, I know, not the typical hobby you'd list on your resume. But there is a lot of thought that goes into a well planned manure fight. The strategy would make your mind spin. For example, you must choose species. Will you go with the liquidy cow turd, the doughy horse ball or the tiny goat pellet? Next you must choose age. Will you choose fresh?? It is a little harder to fling, but upon impact it will make the biggest lasting impression. Will you choose aged? Usually dry and hard, these babies are the tidiest on the hands and can really inflict pain at close range. Or will you choose a nice middle-of-the-road specimen? These are the cream of the crop. A hard, painful outer exterior, yet the insides still hold that horrid, explosive fresh turd goodness. In addition to selecting the perfect weapon one must also employ the perfect strategy of attack. Where will you aim? How hard? At close range, or do you prefer the long distance sneak attack?
Personally, my favourite is the mid-range horse turd. Perfectly round, like a tennis ball, these little nuggets will travel far and fast and deliver a powerful blow. They are fairly tidy to handle, yet explode with devastating results. I also play to win...close range and fire that bad boy as hard as you can muster.
This has me thinking. Hmmm, now if we eliminated all guns, tanks, nuclear weapons, etc. and forced all people to use SHIT, I am sure we would live in a very peaceful world. Do you really think soldiers would go to battle knowing they'd have to handle feces daily? Who in their right mind would financially back a shit fight? And NOBDODY, I mean NOBODY, wants to be on the receiving end of a fresh powerbomb horse turd. That's just human nature.
Well I am sure this discussion has thoroughly blown your mind. A little food for thought. And please don't be discouraged from coming out to Ravenwood Ranch. New victims, er, I mean, visitors are always welcome.
Tam
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