Some Days, You Wear the Egg Salad

Last Friday, I splattered egg salad on my foot while rushing to make a lunch to take to a last-minute subbing job. Here's the good thing: I was wearing crocs. For fashion-challenged readers, that translates to rubber shoes. The not-so-good thing . . . I called Carl over to have him lick it up. He's very accommodating that way. (If you haven't concluded that Carl is a dog, your life is a lot more interesting than mine.) And I didn't have to slow down in my race to eighth-grade science. But still. Is it really better to have dog slobber on your foot instead of foodstuff?

It wasn't until I got to school that I discovered that while my shoes were egg-salad free, not true for the horse poop that I'd traipsed through in the barn in my goin-ta-town rubber shoes instead of my shit-kickin', steel-toed rubber boots.
(I also fed the horses while traipsing around in fuzzy slip-on house shoes once; by the time I noticed, it was too late to matter much. I guess I could have just taken them off; but honestly, if my kids ever find me clomping around in the barn sans footwear, they'll be speed dialing Shady Pines. I suspect they've already made a deposit.) Nevertheless, I've come to recognize just how far my own personal sanitation bar and yuck meters have been lowered since moving to the ranch.


Any city folks transplanted to the country will tell you that you'll have some serious adapting to do. As Good Neighbor Gary told us early on (try to imagine a gravelly voice loud enough to be heard while you're using a leaf blower), "If you don't like mud, don't move to the country." I've also learned to appreciate spider webs--on every 90-degree angle of the decks. I name them all Charlotte. I've picked up  (with a rag) a (tiny) garden snake in the garage and taken (flung) it into the nearest garden. I've carefully replaced a palette in the shed upon discovering a momma mouse nursing three babies. (And made a new ranch rule: "No disturbing lactating wildlife for the duration.")

Here are some things you probably wouldn't anticipate:

A call the first week saying Logan's cows are in your front yard

The lawnmower stuck in the boggy far field

Waiting for turtles to cross the road (or ferrying them across if you're in a rush)

Neighbors' dogs making themselves at home (one even entering the back door one windy night and sleeping next to the master of the house)

The lawnmower stuck in the muddy near field

Two out of your three horses pooping in their water buckets

Four newborn kittens in the barn when you don't even own a cat (and one of you pretends to be allergic because he has a thing about scratching and fur flinging)

Neighbors calling to say the horses are out (a smart horse can open his stall latch as well as those on the other horses' stalls)

A large portion of the north lawn finding its way into an old well with just two inches of water 20 feet down

A mummified possum in the granary under the croquet set

A live possum in the cats' (of course you kept them) winterized dog kennel

Foot note: (Did you see what I did there?) Later that Friday I found a piece of egg white inside my shoe, but as spilled foods go, cooked egg white has to be the most forgiving. Nevertheless, I removed it carefully, wrapped it in a Kleenex, and nestled it into the trash can in the eighth-grade science class. If I hadn't found it until that night, I'd probably have left it in the cats' dog kennel for the live possum.

#ranchlife #horselife #farmlife #countrylife #horse #possum #shadypines