Bear-Bait Newsletter

The Sacredness of Horse-Sh*t

Bear-Bait #043

Dec 17, 2025

I feel my chest muscles contract and squeeze. My biceps harden as the handles of the wheel-barrow rise high above my head.

I give a few gentle taps on the bottom of the scoop and snow falls from my sopping boots. I can’t be too thorough.

This is about my 200th time performing this dumping movement. I do it with routine perfection, but each muscle fiber groans and aches.

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I’m on hour 10 of dumping horse crap into the manure pile, and my arms are feeling it.

Nevertheless, the job must be done. I move the wheel-barrow backward off the concrete pad where the pile is. The ledge always sneaks up on me. The 2-inch drop into muddy, icy, stinky wet slush makes my frozen teeth chatter.

I take a deep breath to ward off the fatigue.

I push the barrow across the barnyard to the covered pavilion with new stable bedding. I scoop the soaked and frozen saw-dust into the barrow to bring back inside for the horses.

After a full day of scooping, the tiredness lingers. The freezing air makes it even harder to catch my breath. A hay bale sits a few feet away. It’s the perfect spot to catch my breath.

I think back to that first day at the horse farm. Late September I think?

Ashley, the head ranch-hand, had just given me a demonstration on what a clean stall looks like.

“It’ll probably take you some practice, but you’ll get the hang of things.”

Oh boy, I couldn’t wait to get into each stall (with the horse mind you) and experience farm work for myself.

I had labored on a produce farm before, but this was the first time being up close and personal with horses for work.

It was hard work. I’d scoop and rake out the waste from each stall (with the horse still in there mind you), go outside and dump the smelly stuff, scoop some fresh bedding, bring it inside and dump it into the stall. Lather, rinse, and repeat until my section is done.

There were about 10 stalls under my stewardship, and it took me 5 hours on my first day.

As gruelling as it was, I was excited about the new job. “It’ll build character”

Famous last words.

Now, on New Years Day 2022, I sit on this hay bale, my cheeks red and burnt from the chill. I open and close my hands a few times. I can feel the dry, tight skin crack.

Building character sucks.

I remember that first morning of my Christmas break shift. December 26th, 6:00 am. Half the students were home, and the rest of us had to cover for them.

This means that the usual responsibility of 10 stalls became 24. You do the math. That’s a lot of horse-sh*t.

Oh it was so bad. I remember getting back to my apartment after work each day and taking my boots off. My hands would shake and my voice quiver. I would call that girl in Maryland and let her know how overwhelmed I was. How badly I didn’t want to get up and do it again the next day.

But now I sit on this hay bale and tears run down my face.

I let the full force of my emotions hit me and something compels me to take out my headphones. I comply.

The silence overwhelms me as I become deaf to the music. Only the sound of wind hits my ears now, the howling of airborne ice crystals as they rush by.

I look up to the recently-set sun, its yellow glow peaking up over the white majesty of the Wellsvilles. Its light sweeps over the blue, snow-covered twilight. A subtle yellow reflects off the rock-hard grooves of ice left behind by the farm trucks.

I turn my head to the east, the first stars begin to appear in the swirling blues and purples of night.

The wind continues to howl, void of any interruptions. It soothes me. The very wind that cuts through all layers to take my breath away, takes my breath away.