Remember the scene in the Shawshank Redemption where Tim Robbins straddles the main sewer line for the prison, and cracks a hole in it when the thunder strikes - and then gets in it and rides the liquids and solids for 200 yards to freedom?
Off the side of my house - where the dogs get out to the yard - was an icebank that was two and a half feet thick and about 15 yards long. It gets very little sun as it sits between our fence and our house. The dogs had carved out a path over the winter so they could get to the back yard. The problem is/was that my old Labrador can't get too far on that ice bank. So - since mid-December that stretch of ice has become a doggie shitstorm, a dumping ground, a brown and yellow pile of nastiness that they began tracking in the house. Imagine, if you will, a giant fecal snowcone. There ya go.
So, armed with an immune system that's got me all full of anitbodies while fighting a cold last week, I went out in my sorels, crappy old clothes, a garden hose, a spade, and a shovel. Plunging the spade into the snow was bad enough as remnants from November/December/January and February past flew into the air. It was actually like cutting a dog shit cake. Plunge the spade a few times, cut a section, switch to the shovel, and remove a brick of shitty snow to the back yard. Walk back, repeat, and repeat. 2.5 hours later, I was down to the flagstone. The garden hose washed the bottom layer away, and by 3pm, voila - clean and dry.
Meanwhile, Dana was at a 3-day nutrition conference in San Diego and Lyza was playing hoops with friends. Is it me, or does all the shit fall back on the dude in the house??
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