It was one of those days today... you know the kind. The kind where you wake up loaded for bear, and goodness help the man, woman or child who crosses your path. The kind where you decide that a blog post isn't a very good idea, because who knows where your ranting and raving will take you.
So imagine my surprise when smell-o-vision kicked in, and gave the day the extra sensory element it was lacking.
I first noticed something was amiss when I went out at 1:30 pm to feed the bottle baby and refill the water buckets. (The sheep have been working on the front lawn the past few days, much to the amazement/amusement of my LSH's patients and random passersby.)
The smell was eye-wateringly pungent, and I immediately blamed the dog. I checked my boots -- nothing. I checked in the garden beds right around the front porch -- nothing. I marched around, muttering to myself about certain dogs and their anti-social habits, but I couldn't find the offending pile.
A little while later, my friend Val swung by to pick up some lamb formula, and commented that the smell had more of the pig about it. One of the many talents farmers can boast of: manure identification by nose alone.
She was right. One of the local farmers down the road was spreading manure, most definitely of piggish origin. But by then it was too late. The scent had permeated the entire house, thanks to the windows wide open to catch the breeze.
Terzo came in complaining that his entire school bus had blamed the sheep on the front lawn for the odor, as both the smell and the sight of the sheep had hit them as soon as the bus turned onto our road. With elementary school logic, they were certain the two were related.
Somehow that rotten smell turned my mood around. How could I stay crabby when my olfactory senses were being assaulted with every breath? I had no choice but to grin and bear it, and I guess the grinning did the trick. Hurray for pig poop!