My grandson pinched his nose as he was gagging every breath.
The poor boy acted like he might just suffocate to death.
It’s so obvious when people turn their nose from horse manure.
The pungent smell is too much for their sniffer to endure.
A crusty cowboy taught me “ Horse manure smells all its own.
‘Cuz when we were much younger it was called cowboy cologne.”
I doubt he wore Old Spice or Aqua Velva aftershave.
I’m sure his horse manure cologne followed him right to the grave.
For me, the smell of horse manure brings back old memories.
I can’t forget the smoldering smells brought in by summer’s breeze.
While on the farm we did our chores before we went to school.
We tried to keep our boots clean. ‘Twas my mother’s family rule.
One morning during feeding, a mare would not cooperate.
There was no time to clean my boots. The horse had made me late.
My boots were caked with horse manure from heel to tip of toe.
English was first period. I’d been better not to go.
The English room was toasty warm. I cranked a window out.
But the smell that drifted off my boots was still a bit too stout.
So, my English teacher told me, “Throw those filthy boots away.”
I told him, “I don’t think so, but I’ll walk on out today.”
My Agriculture teacher didn’t mind the horse manure.
But said, “When taking English, clean your stinking boots for sure.”
So, I didn’t push my luck. From then I cleaned ‘em till they shone.
Horse manure in English class was a no-no carved in stone.
One day my father told me “Load the truck with horse manure.
Haul it to your grandma. If she runs out, get her more.”
I mulched it in the garden till grandma told me, “Time to stop.”
And to this day I’ve never seen a finer tomato crop.
I gulped down ripe tomatoes. Didn’t care how they were grown.
And no evidence or smell of the old cowboy cologne.
As long as there are horses, there’ll be plenty of horse manure.
And if your nose is sensitive, start shoveling. That’s the cure.
