Bobbing for Apples
My dad is an appraiser. He does a lot of farm work and always has since he started in the late sixties. In this part of the country, there are a lot of dairies. Every dairy has certain things like a milking parlor, feed storage and a manure lagoon. Didn't know that? You do now. Go get a glass of milk and I'll wait to finish my story.
Back already? Good. Well dad was doing a lot of foreclosure work in the very early eighties and he got a dairy foreclosure assignment. The owner was, of course, not all too happy to see dad show up and was a little less than friendly. They were out walking around the property and dad asked what was the best way to get to the upper pasture. The owner says, "follow me."
They head out across a paved area and toward the manure lagoon. The owner heads up the little rise and to the concrete edge of the lagoon and just keeps going out into the manure. Dad sees this and thinks that either this guy is the crap pope and just performed a crap miracle or the manure lagoon isn't any more than just an inch or so deep, since that's how deep this guy's boot are going into the manure. Dad gets up to the side and doesn't even slow down, so confident is he in the depth of the lagoon. First step and in he goes up to his freaking neck in forty degree liquid hay. Gloooop!
Apparently there was a concrete wall down the middle of the lagoon and the dairy owner was following some lag bolts sticking up above the crap so he would know where to step. Since they were rusty dad never even saw them. He pulled himself out quick enough and the dairy owner said, "there's a creek over there," between bursts of laughter.
Dad headed over to the creek, completely drenched in bovine feces right up to the shave line on his neck. The creek was apparently pretty small and dad just went and laid down in it for a while on both sides. He said that the only reason the creek wasn't frozen was because it was moving and he thought the water was somewhere in the twenties. Brrrrr.
He then finished up at the property and drove home in cold, wet clothes to the fading sounds of a dairyman's laughter.
Back already? Good. Well dad was doing a lot of foreclosure work in the very early eighties and he got a dairy foreclosure assignment. The owner was, of course, not all too happy to see dad show up and was a little less than friendly. They were out walking around the property and dad asked what was the best way to get to the upper pasture. The owner says, "follow me."
They head out across a paved area and toward the manure lagoon. The owner heads up the little rise and to the concrete edge of the lagoon and just keeps going out into the manure. Dad sees this and thinks that either this guy is the crap pope and just performed a crap miracle or the manure lagoon isn't any more than just an inch or so deep, since that's how deep this guy's boot are going into the manure. Dad gets up to the side and doesn't even slow down, so confident is he in the depth of the lagoon. First step and in he goes up to his freaking neck in forty degree liquid hay. Gloooop!
Apparently there was a concrete wall down the middle of the lagoon and the dairy owner was following some lag bolts sticking up above the crap so he would know where to step. Since they were rusty dad never even saw them. He pulled himself out quick enough and the dairy owner said, "there's a creek over there," between bursts of laughter.
Dad headed over to the creek, completely drenched in bovine feces right up to the shave line on his neck. The creek was apparently pretty small and dad just went and laid down in it for a while on both sides. He said that the only reason the creek wasn't frozen was because it was moving and he thought the water was somewhere in the twenties. Brrrrr.
He then finished up at the property and drove home in cold, wet clothes to the fading sounds of a dairyman's laughter.
posted by ted at 4:37 PM
10 Comments:
HOW did I live 33 years as that man's daughter and never hear this tale of fecal woe?! All I remember are the times he would come home from appraising a flea-infested house, strip off his clothes in the garage and throw them in a plastic garbage bag. The tightly sealed bag would wind up at the bottom of the nonexistent laundry chute (i.e., thrown through the hole in the hall closet only to end up strewn all over the basement floor, for those not in the know). Remember the pop-pop-pop sound those fleas made against the insides of the garbage bags?
Dangit Mel, You stole my story here. They sounded like popcorn in those bags. I remember hearing this story. How many crazy ass things happened to him in the field, from state owns, to farm foreclosures.
Wasnt it Dad who found the basement full of the backed up septic system. He then called for a clean up crew who pumped the basement out. they then found a bed down there, but it was waterlogged, so they used a chainsaw to cut it into chunks. The got to the middle and hit something that exploded a gas stuff all over. The foreclosee had stuffed dead sheep in between the matress and the box spring, then plugged the septic system to flood the basement. I am pretty sure that was something that dad discovered. Am I wrong?
You pretty much have it right on. The basement had had the black water pipe re-routed into it. It was a king sized mattress thrown on top of two dead sheep on the floor. It had been under about six feet of sewage for an undetermined number of weeks.
These kind of people who do stuff like this need to be shot.
it just gets grosser and grosser . . .
Completely, utterly out of control... I can imagine stuff like that happen to Jim Carrey in a very funny movie, but (as Tim noted) it requires an entirely different response if done in real life to actual people. Wow, those people really live out there?
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