Poopy Weather and Poopy Feathers: A Novella

This morning our landscaper (who we'll call Ed) was in the garage working on our sprinkler timer when two of the wild ducks who live on the river wandered in. Ed, thinking that my boys would like to feed these two wild ducks, shut the door and trapped the ducks in our garage.

But the two wild ducks did not want to be trapped. In fact, the two wild ducks became so alarmed at being trapped that they pooped all over our garage floor, smearing their feet and feathers in the poop in their panicked attempts to find freedom. The two wild ducks then began flying at our closed garage doors over and over again, which scared my boys enough that they didn't want to feed the ducks anymore and instead stood on the steps and ate the bread themselves.

So finally I opened the garage door to let the two wild ducks out. My boys, who are usually trapped inside themselves since we don't have a yard yet, followed the two wild ducks to freedom and ran straight out into the snowstorm. (Yes, you read that right: snowstorm.) The boys ran outside and took off in three different directions, and wouldn't you know it, all of them ended up in the mud. Drew made it the farthest, and when I finally reached him he sat down right in a deep puddle in protest. Then he started screaming because he was soaked and muddy and freezing.

So now I have wet, muddy boys to clean up, and wet, muddy shoes to clean up, and wet, slimy poop to clean up. Hooray! The end.