So last night it turns out that the dog must have eaten something bad for her, because she crazy pooped all over the bedroom floor. I did not not discover this until oh, about midnight. Because life is unfair like that. Then this morning I discovered that she had also risen at some point during the night to crazy diarrhea poop in my office. At that point I was pretty sure that life was giving me the finger. So, it was about noon before I staggered out of my poop smelling house to go do things with my day.
You know that point where you think you are getting a handle on things? Like maybe you have denailed some boards, and then maybe you have moved a load of rocks for your future house and felt like you were doing good despite setbacks?
That was about the point we got the backhoe stuck in the lawn.
Everything was going great. We used the front backhoe bucket to collect some big rocks, and then we attempted to drive them over to the wall* we were building. Which was across a field and also across the lawn. The last bit didn't go very well. You ever seen a full size backhoe just slide three feet and then become hopelessly mired in black watery muddy poo like earth? Because I have.
Scott yelled something I didn't hear at that moment, spun the tires again gently before getting out and coming to stand next to me. Curse words were uttered. Ideas were floated. Since waiting until late summer when the ground gets real dry was a less then stellar option, I suggested that we use the front bucket to pull it out of the hole because I had heard of it being done. On a forum. Once.
At least Scott thought that was a good plan.
Have you ever seen a backhoe dry heave? Because I have. I don't meant to imply that Scott wasn't operating it well, he was.** It's just that there is only one way to describe that set of motions.
Now you would think that just digging the front bucket into the earth and pulling the arm back in wouldn't be enough to drag the whole machine forward, but it totally is. The key is that the stabilizers weren't down. Once it became clear the the hoe was leaving the earth and clawing it's way into the parking pad we all went crazy. Scott pumped his fist in the air and I jumped up and down and high fived the dog but she was too excited and splashed mud all over my face but none of us cared because dignity is for people that don't have backhoes.
Then I thought everything was going to be alright and then my sandwich caught fire in the toaster oven and now my
house mobile home smells like burning dog poop. Some times I hate my life.
Stupid motherfucking life.
* The dry stacked stone walls will become the house someday in case you were wondering.
** Scott is one of those rare people that is good at things he has never done before. This was only his third time driving a backhoe and he made it look like he had been driving one all his life.