It was Monday afternoon.  It was freezing.  The cold North wind was howling through the barn.  Of course it was.  Because it’s Monday afternoon, and that’s when Izzy has riding lessons.  And for some reason it has to be blazing hot or freezing cold.  Because that’s just how it always is.

I was huddled in a corner of the barn trying to scribble out a check for the payment box—which is hard to do when wearing gloves and shivering.  All of a sudden I heard a disgusted moan come from the tack room where Izzy was getting Bubbles, the horse, ready to ride.

Izzy: Uh Mom, Bubbles just pooped.

Mom: Okay.

Izzy: Can you come here, Mom? Please.

Because this is a site I want to see.

Mom: I’m here Izzy.  What’s wrong?

Izzy: Well, could you clean it up?

Mom: Are you kidding me?  No, no and NO!  Absolutely not.

Izzy: Well, I don’t know how.

Mom: There’s a shovel and a bucket right behind you.  I think you can figure it out.

Izzy: But I might gag.

Mom: I don’t think Bubble’s will mind.

Seriously Child. But I guess it doesn’t hurt to ask.

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