My poor human father does not know the allure of manure…
Poor man, as far as I can tell
Has no sense of smell
That pitiful nose
Would miss a sewer
And never warn of foes
Or follow the yummiest lure.
From at least a mile away
I can smell
the smell
Of processed hay
He walks blindly past
My great equine repast
But tells me that it’s nast
And that I must fast…
Oh, silly man
Why won’t you eat
That horse given treat?!
And why must you ban
What I find beneath my feet?
A dog knows to get what they can
Even a petite bite of horse-butt-peat off a pile so neat
He yanks the leash
And pulls me away
But I will get some
On another day
I tell him and tell him but shouldn’t bother
For the allure
Of manure
Is quite beyond my father.

***

Idina for some reason thinks there is no better treat in the world than some horse poop out in a field.  I usually remember and keep her away from where I know there are piles, but she is tricky…  When I asked her about it today, the above poem was her reply….  (In the photo at the top of the page she has a stick in her mouth, not the dreaded other stuff….)