Trauma:Life in The Cooke House

I went to let my chickens out a few minutes ago. Barefooted. As I was walking across the deck, I stepped in something nasty. I immediately got mad at the chickens for pooping on the deck.

AND.

THEN.

I.

LOOKED.

DOWN.

It wasn't chicken poop.

It wasn't dog poop.

It wasn't cat  poop.

Nor was it random bird poop.

It was human poop.

From one of my humans. One of my tiny humans, I hope.

So there it was, human poop squished on my foot. How do you even go about cleaning something like this up? I used the scrub-like-a-madman-using-bleach-and-a-brillo-pad-approach while wearing elbow length kitchen gloves (that I threw away) and using the garden hose in the front yard.

I may never recover from this trauma. EVER.

The image of human poop squished between my toes will go with me to my grave. I had to share. It's starting to be slightly funny now. SLIGHTLY.

You should just be happy that I didn't take pictures....