Soiled

As middle schoolers have earlier obligations than those of us in elementary school, Libby was bussed out an hour before Sarah and I. With this extra time, we were given chores to occupy us. So after we’d scrounge together lunch money, Hope’s stall beckoned. Methodically moving the soiled straw from stall to manure bucket, we would finish up by hoisting the overfilled bucket over our heads into the manure spreader. Swatting the overflow from our curls, we would trudge down the hill to the bus stop and board the bus, our cow’s filth compacted in the treads of our sneakers.