I extended my finger and she sprayed a little curl of foam on the pad, and indeed the foam popped and fizzed. A-ha, I thought, someone has finally combined the chemistry of Pop Rocks with the technology of aerosol cheese. I shook my head in the old I’ll-be-danged manner, and popped the finger in my mouth.

Later, when I got done rinsing and spitting and rinsing and spitting and pawing at my mouth like a dog with a lip-full of quills, and when the hysterical teenaged giggling subsided, I had a look at the can:

“WILD APPLE DAFFODIL SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE”

Setting aside for a moment the idea that a man who would eat WILD APPLE DAFFODIL SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE is in charge of the keeping and raising of daughters, let us consider that this same man, who considers himself moderately well-read and traveled was utterly ignorant of the existence of SHIMMER FIZZ BODY MOUSSE of any formulation, and is officially prepared to tender his letter of resignation as soon as he can figure out where to mail it. Why do I get the feeling that the road ahead is nothing but high-speed hairpins overlooking an endless canyon?

P.S. In her defense, please note that at no time did my niece suggest I actually eat the stuff.

P.P.S. On the back of the can, where it says “NOT TESTED ON ANIMALS”? No longer true.

*To be absolutely accurate and in the interest of harmony at home, let it be known that last night my wife shut the chickens in.

*a football scholarship to nursing school…now that would’ve been nifty.

Rest of the story (and action photos!) after the page break.

You can see the hutch in the background of this photo:

It was the perfect hutch…allowing enough light so the pigs were emotionally uplifted, but impermeable to sun, wind and rain. The only catch was that it was so heavy that the only way to move it was to waller it around with the tractor and loader. I know it looks like a little plastic thing, but trust me, it’s dense.

So for three years I’d push it here and there, wherever I wanted to put the pigs. We’ve got another batch on the way soon (they’re here now!), so the other day I took the tractor out back (over winter the hutch served as…umm…a deer blind) and proceeded to flip the hutch over on its roof like I always do (it’s easier to push around that way). Only this time when it flopped I heard a strange sound – a combo of cracking and tearing. My view was obstructed by the end wall of the hutch, but my buddy Mills was helping me, and when I looked at him he had his wide-eyed-dismay face on.

Dang thing split. Two big cracks running half the length of the structure. My best free score ever, and I broke it.

After Mills consoled me (I kept saying, “It was free… It was free…), I got to looking the situation over. It was clearly suck it up and walk it off time.

I fetched the Sawzall (OK, my wimpy version of a Sawzall) (I went through about six battery changes), and began doing this:

And when I was done, we had one reconfigured pig hutch…

…and two piggy cabanas!

In this case (A) and (B) involved differing recollections regarding the plumbing setup for a cattle waterer, but really the variables are irrelevant; it’s the general trend that’s worrisome.