Yesterday Maxi comments (hahaha! That’s her blog name) she commented that after my grand adventure with Archer, I should keep my boots handy. Well, I commented back to Maxi that I have a story about boots. And that I should blog about it… so in celebration of my 100th Blog Post, here is my story about boots.
In 1993, I had my first exciting experience with boots. I was strangely enough, dating a new man. A cattle farmer who was two years later, to become my husband. I’m sure you all know that farmers do some pretty messy work at times. Even I, a City Girl knew that things get downright mucky on a farm. So when I volunteered (Yeah.. I’m a glutton for punishment) to drive to the farm and help him with chores one Saturday, he said I should bring my boots. I promptly went to Sears and found the cutest little Duck Boots. They were a navy blue, rubber bottomed and had tan leather tops. They fit well and looked so darn cute. Mine were just a little bit shorter than these pictured here. Rising to just above my ankle. But they seemed sturdy and muck-proof. When I arrived at the farm, my farmer met me wearing coveralls and black rubber boots. He had a pitchfork in his hand and a huge smile on his face. Being in one my daring moods, I asked what the chore was for today.
He said with a grin, “I’m cleaning the hog house. Oh, you don’t wanna do this.”
Being the completely stupid girl that I am, I replied “I came to help today. So, let’s get to it.”
I opened the back door of my car and got out my little boots. Shoved a foot inside each boot and followed him over toward the hog house. (I was thinking, how bad can it be.. it’s an afternoon. I’m a quick learner.) That’s what I was thinking til he opened the door of the hog house and the vapors of ammonia nearly threw me to the ground. Now, I knew pigs would smell not as fragrant as Miss Piggy on a hot date… but I did not expect ammonia odors strong enough to peel the paint off my car. I could not catch a breath of air.. he knew it too. He was laughing as I turned toward the blowing wind.
He repeated, “I don’t think you should do this.”
Like an idiot. I insisted. (I knew it was my farm interview.) Stalling, I asked how many pigs were in that shed.
He went inside to a narrow walkway. The pigs were in two pens one on either side of the walkway. They were excited to see me and I said “Hi Pigs” They all snorted and sniffed and rooted in the straw. My farmer took his pitchfork and hopped over the wooden gate blocking the pigs from the walkway. He began scooping the wet piggy pooh saturated straw into a maneuer spreader. (He was right, I didn’t wanna do this. But being the good sport I am..) I asked him for a pitchfork. He pointed to the corner of the walkway. I grabbed ahold of that pitchfork like it was an everyday event. And I threw my short little legs over the wooden gate into the opposite pen. The pigs seemed quite impressed with my cute little boots because they all came over to see them. But one pig and then another began to nibble at them. While I was still wearing them! All the while my farmer was scooping, he had one eye on me to make sure I didn’t get into trouble. But he knew his pigs were having a grand old-time with me. They could smell City Girl all over me. (I had worn perfume.. not that you could tell.)
I shoved that pitchfork underneath the sopping wet straw and tried to lift a scoop.. nope. Couldn’t budge it. Wayyyyy too heavy. So I had to take baby scoops. I also quickly learned that when a pig bites at your boots you should push them away. Or else they’ll bite at your pants too. He had very friendly pigs, they never left my side the entire time I was scooping. I was quite proud of myself though when I finally found a patch of cement floor underneath the straw. I was making headway. Whoo -Hooo! That is, until I took a step forward to reach for another scoop of straw. The cute little heel on my cute little boot slid down from the wet straw to the cement, causing me to lose my balance. (Now, I’ve never said that grace or elegance are my strong points, so there’s no false advertising coming from me.) Yes, I fell flat on my back into the piggy pooh. The pigs all scurried over to help me. Because we all know pigs are soo darn helpful. My farmer was there on the spot, flying over his gate and mine. He shooed the pigs away. (I was very grateful.) lI ooked up at him from my relaxed position and said,
“I think I need a little help getting up.”
You see, if I used my hands to push myself up, they’d be in piggy pooh too. Not gonna do that.
My farmer had to laugh. And he did a great job of it too.
He asked, “Why can’t I have a video camera? Your girlfriends are never gonna believe this!”
(I truly believe that he would have sent it in to ‘Funny Home Videos’ and we’d have won the million dollars. Alas.. no camera.)
Later this particular afternoon, after all the piggy pooh had been cleared away and the pigs were happily rooting around in fresh new straw, my farmer took me to the house. We went in through the basement door. I kicked off my cute little pooh covered boots. He got me a pair of his jeans and a flannel shirt to wear (I said no to his undies.) And as I followed him through the family room, past the basement stairway, I could hear a woman (his sister who was here visiting for the weekend) cooking in the kitchen. She looked down the stairs and saw me standing there.. perfectly dipped, like a chocolate covered cherry. (What could I do? I looked up at her and smiled as my farmer introduced me to his sister. I make a great first impression!)
She shrieked, “what did you do to her?”
“Nothing! She wanted to help, and she fell in. .” was his reply.
I showered and put on his jeans, and the comforting flannel shirt and wandered up the stairs in to the kitchen. Holding onto the jeans so that they wouldn’t fall down, I met all of my farmer’s family who had gathered to meet his ‘girlfriend’. They laughed and I laughed and we had a wonderful dinner. This was my initiation. So in comparison, the winter hike with Archer was simply a nice afternoon stroll.