Poop. And now I'm done talking about it.

Perhaps you have noticed from my last few posts that my life has been dictated by poop lately.
I have typed the word 'poop' more in the last few weeks than in the rest of my life.
Poop makes me happy when its in the potty. Poop makes me sad when its not.
I contemplate human poop while cleaning up dog poop.
I just cleaned out an aquarium full of fish poop, stopping half way through to help S poop on the potty (yay!)

Poop, poop, poop.
Poop happens.

The cat poops too- but due to a grandfather clause that I am not going to mention out loud, J takes care of her poop. She's my 'get out of jail free card' of poop.

My mother used to joke that she was an engineer of poop, as she could tell which poop belonged to which of our 5 dogs (and this wasn't even the time when one of our dogs ate fluorescent green playdough and then pooped fluorescent green poops all over the yard) Once one of our dogs- the same one that ate/expelled the green playdough, ate and passed my mothers boyfriends sock. Which was laundered and returned to him, he none the wiser.

I am contemplating more poop in my life- of the chicken variety. I had chickens growing up, and always knew I'd have them again- something has snapped in my head recently (ok, a few somethings) and I am tired of waiting. Its chicken time. I am making myself wait a bit to be sure the time is now- I am already overwhelmed on a daily basis and am always scrambling around like a chicken with its head... never mind. Chicken post to follow.