My car is over a decade old. It putters as it goes along. The other day, the engine sounded like it was straining. Like it was trying to grind out enough umph to get me to Point B.
How time flies. I remember when it had been brand spankin’ new.
One day, the Mom says to me, “Go to [so and so] hardware. I heard that they’ve got chicken manure for sale there.” She wanted to put some into our home garden.
me: “You want me to put chicken manure into my car?”
the Mom: “Hurry up, before they sell out!”
While grumbling on and on to myself under my breath, I drove to that hardware store. I headed towards the side where I frequently went to in that store, the Garden section.
I passed by all of the bags of soil, and then the many stacks of various plant pots on the shelves. I couldn’t find where in the world that chicken manure was. But boy, oh boy, how much that aisle stunk! It was sniffy to the hilt!
After failing to locate the manure, but knowing it had to be there somewhere due to the powerful aroma, I left that aisle in search of the assistance of a store employee.
employee: “You need help?”
me: “Yup.” (as I breathed in heavily the wonderful fresh air in that aisle)
employee: “Whatchu lookin’ for?”
me: “Chicken manure.”
employee: “Oh, we’re all out.”
He walked me back to Sniffy Aisle #5, and pointed to where the sacks of manure would’ve been. The spot was empty, but there was brownish lookin’ gunk on the wooden floor pallet. Ew.
me: “Yowzers, there’s no more, but the scent of it is still this strong?”
He looked at me and smiled. Dude was used to it. What a champ.
Well, I can’t deny that I wasn’t relieved to not have to load up my car’s trunk with sacks of that nauseating manure that day.
Today, we have a truck. Yay! Although it’s only a few years old, it’s already so beat up lookin’ from all of the stuff that we’ve been loading on it: plywood, rebar, pipes, cement, ladders, garden soil, and good ‘ole manure.
Didja know that steer manure is less sniffy than chicken manure? With that being the case, if a store has both to choose from, I always go with the steer’s poopeedoo. Happy gardening, y’all!