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Poop washes off.
My dad’s use of that phrase is always a bit more colorful, but the word poop instead of the less family-friendly version doesn’t alter its meaning.
In short, it means never be afraid to get your hands dirty, be it from shoveling manure or any other task that might result in greasy hands or dirty fingernails.
I thought of that phrase Monday morning while standing outside and looking at the front door of The Anderson News. Despite a driving rain, what appeared to be about 5 gallons of pig poop still clung to the door. More had already oozed onto the sidewalk, where it formed a remarkably smelly, brownish puddle that looked a bit like lumpy chocolate pudding that had yet to thicken.
And just in case your gag reflex hasn’t kicked in, floating in that goo were small potatoes and no shortage of peanuts, still in their shells.
The splatter was spectacular and delivered a thick coating of poop, potatoes and peanuts onto our newspaper coin box as well as the overhang above the door.
Several thoughts crossed my mind as I stood there looking at the disgusting mess, the first being that the world is chock full of spineless chickens.
In retrospect, calling whoever did this a chicken is a disservice to chickens because, unlike these people, chickens do their business during daylight hours, and spend their nights roosting.
Those responsible are better described as weasels, sneaky little vermin that wait for the cover of darkness to do their dirty work and shiver like wet puppies for fear of being seen.
Being that I have a sneaky suspicion — and the police do, too — who is responsible for this, weasel is the perfect description and one that this bunch more than deserves.
The second thing I considered was the message the weasels were trying to send. Was seeing a bucket of pig dung slung on the front door of my office supposed to scare me? Was it supposed to make me think about recent news articles and columns I’ve written and make me back off? Am I now supposed to quiver in fear waiting for the next attack?
The third was cleaning up the mess, and thanks to my landlord Stan Simmons from State Farm Insurance and some guidance from health director Tim Wright, that job was done fairly quickly because if you’ll recall, poop washes off.
As for whatever message this was supposed to send and if I’m scared, the answer to the first is I don’t give a [poop] and the second is absolutely not.
There will always be people who don’t like certain things I write, or bristle over putting Uncle Joe or Aunt Jane in the court docket. Some will do so in person or via e-mail, others will just smile to my face when they see me then badmouth me to anyone who will listen.
If their response is to call or visit and discuss it, or even vent a bit, they’re always welcome to do so.
If their response is to try to intimidate or scare me, their welcome to try but I’ve dealt with bigger, badder and tougher weasels than these, including the ones who smashed the back windows of my house with rocks one sunny day in May of 2010.
Just as it turned out to be fairly easy washing pig poop off my front door Monday morning, I’m sure washing away these weasels won’t be too much harder — they’ll just a little more scrubbing.