My first wife died in 1969 after 15 months of marriage. At that time, I swore that I would never marry again. I didn’t want to be hurt again. I kept my resolve – until – I met Pat (Shaughnessy) Schiebel and then that resolve came undone.
Pat and I were married April 1980. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was besotted and still am.
So – in the Fall of that year, Pat, who reads every word of the Washington Post, found in some obscure corner a notice that the circus, which was at DC’s Armory, was offering free “circus potty” the next Saturday. That’s manure left by tigers, lions, and elephants. She wanted me to go and get some for a garden she was planning on our property on the western shore of the Chesapeake. This is not my favorite way to spend a Saturday morning; however, besotted as I was, I went.
Picture 7 men, equally besotted, with fire in their eyes, plastic bags and pitchforks in their hands, vying for the best “potty” available – without a lot of straw if possible.
Have you ever tried to hold a black plastic back open in your left hand, trying with your right hand to get the full pitchfork into the bag?
Somehow, I managed. We 7 men with fire in our eyes, got our bags filled without killing each other. Not a bit of blood was spent.
On the Sunday following, Pat & I, ignoring the smell, took the bag to our property in southern Maryland and spaded the “potty” into the garden plot.
A few weeks later, we returned to have a picnic to christen a brick fire pit that David, our then son-in-law, had built for us. We had paid him to do so because Vicky and he needed the money. We don’t know what he was smoking but the firepit was crooked and off center. What the hell, it worked.
We had brought along daughter Tammy’s boxer, Drummer Boy. Once he got a whiff of the “potty” laced garden plot, he ran. He wanted nothing to do with tiger, leopard and elephant shit.
Thank goodness the circus has disbanded, and I won’t be faced with this challenge again.
