I watch and wonder as the neighbors pick through their horse pasture, stooping often, searching the ground. Their two year old toddles behind, sometimes losing her balance, toppling forward. It’s a big pasture so their chore continues for 30 minutes.
The car loads of kids arrive about an hour later and the pasture is filled with Easter egg hunters, screaming in delight. I think, wow, that pasture held horses for over 20 years and still has an occupant, Oliver. How clean can you get it, really?
I imagine this conversation when the Easter egg hunters arrive home.
Mom: Thanks dear for taking the kids to the Easter Egg hunt. They smell funny. Where was that egg hunt again?
Dad: Their horse pasture, but they cleaned it really well, they said.
Mom: Well, from the smell and that brown crap sticking to Danny’s shoe and hair, I’d say not so well. Give them a bath, will you?
I know, I’ve spent way too much time around horses and horse shit, haven’t I?