The definition of MORON

mo⋅ron  [mOE-Ron]

–noun
1. a person who is notably stupid or lacking in good judgment.
2. Psychology. a person of borderline intelligence in a former classification of mental retardation, having an intelligence quotient of 50 to 69.
3. Anyone who ends up digging post holes 'cause they were on the wrong side of the fence.

Well, we were about through with the hog pen. We had gotten the 8 large posts in the ground. and 20 small ones. All of the panels were set up against the places they were going to be nailed.

We had worked it where the majority of it was being nailed on the inside. Because when a pig (or anything) roots or leans against a fence, you dont want them leaning on/ pushing the fence away from the posts. Your staples are more likely to pop out, which means you in turn will be chasing said livestock from Hell to Breakfast. Where as if the fence is on the inside, the posts on the outside and your staples are on the inside, they aint puttin the pressure against them.

Well, when you are making a square, there will be some that have to go outside. (on the large corner posts), and on those we made sure the small posts in between were on the outside so we could nail to the inside of them.

This worked out well, until we got to the dido that BR put in it. The wire was crooked, had a bow in it, and just generally looked like hammered dog poo. So, while I was in the house searching for my hammer and gloves, he pulled up those.

I finally found my hammer. That I had asked him a dozen times if he had seen.
It was with all his other tools. Right beside the drill and drill bits that we would need to put up the gate. I never did find my gloves, These are the ones I keep in the door of my truck. Cause I never know when I am going to end up doing something nasty and need them. BUT being lazy ole me, when I used them building fence last time I brought them in the house and laid them down. And I do remember seeing Rayley putting them on Bows feet so he could walk around and look like a duck.

Anyway, I loaded up the drill, the drill bits, and my precious hammer and started down. I wouldnt need my gloves, all I was going to be doing was hammering. I shouldnt get a splinter or pinch my fingers with the wire. My hands would get pretty dirty, and my nails would be broken, but oh well.. they wash and will grow back.

When I got out there we proceeded to nail up the panels. No problem. He was inside the fence, I was outside, I would lean against the smaller posts he was nailing into. My shoulder is bruised from him wacking the staples and the post wacking me. No matter how hard I tried to lean into it, it was still brutal.

Then we get to the one he pulled up the middle posts on. We nailed it to the large posts and went to the next one.

Then it was the gate. they come with these very large screw/ hinge things. you have to screw them into the corner post. No problem. that went very smooth. You can screw them in our out more or less to adjust the drag on the gate (the height at which the gate sits or doesnt sit on the ground), and how close the gate is to the post.

This is the smoothest and easiest we have EVER installed a gate. And we have done MANY gates.

Then it was time to reset the new posts.
BR was inside the fence, he was digging the post hole for it. and I was walking around, double checking the staples, and adding a few where I thought more were needed onthe posts that had to be stapled on the outside.

I kinda felt sorry for him having to redig this hole. But, the other two times we had done it he had used the auger on the tractor. so in almost 30 postholes, he actually only manually dug the one when we broke the pin. So digging these two wouldnt kill him. I mean dont get me wrong, he had to clean the edges up, or shave off a few more inches of dirt on most of them. and clean out the holes. But no actual digging except the one.

BR called me over and asked me to eyeball the post he had just sank and tamped into the ground.

I went over and we discussed it still being kinda wonky looking, but decided that if any pig complained about the accomidations we would simply shoot it, skin it, and cook it.

Then, BR went to get the staples, since I was on the outside I would hammer them in.
Then it dawned on me. and I opened my mouth.
One day I will learn to keep my big mouth shut.
But at this point I wasnt comprehending that I had just screwed myself.

So, I asked BR why come the fence was on the outside of the post.
"I dont know..." he replied
Then he pulled up the post, handed it to me and I tried putting it on THIS side of the fence. While I was dropping it in, I felt the tender skin rip on my precious little hand. and I felt a searing pain. I looked. I had a splinter the size of a landscape timber embeded in my palm. and the bad part was, it BROKE about 1/8 of in inch in and I couldnt get it out!

I kept favoring my hand, it hurt like the dickens. But was trying not to be a baby.
SO, I had throwed the post into the hole.
It was too close in. it would have to be dug out. So, I pulled it up and threw it down. My poor hand was throbbing at this point.

THEN he proceeded to hand me the post hole diggers and told me to make this hole a little bigger. I ended up digging the hole to double the size. Basicly digging my own post hole beside his. And it was 2 feet deep! In clay!

We set that pole with me doing all the shoveling of the dirt and tamping of course- cause the fence was between him and the post, and he couldnt get to it to tamp, and he nailed in the staples.

THen we moved down a few feet and he said "go ahead and dig right here"
So, me, being the ditzy blonde that I am, went at it with gusto.
Till about the 4th time he gave me direction on how to dig a post hole. Then it dawned on me. I was a mo-freakin-ron.

But, I finished digging the hole. I was favoring my poor hand. wondering at which point I would have to get stiches when I was digging out this pine sapling later with a pocket knife and tweezers, and BR said "GOOD LORD, what is wrong with you? why are you favoring your hand?"
"I got a splinter"
"let me see you big baby"
"Dont poke it, it hurts"
"titty baby"
so I showed him my hand. Not really wanting to hear his crap.
"oh, that is a pretty good one.. "
I almost fainted.
Then he said "but you can still work with it, lets finish up"
So, my dumb self started making sure my hole was clean.
In the post went, I shovled in the dirt (and this REALLY didnt feel good on my poor sensitive palm), and then I had to tamp it. tamping involoves an old axe handle, or something simmular, where you hit the dirt pretty hard to make sure its packed. We were using a shovel. turned upside down of course.

When I was done I looked up at BR, he was holding Bow, who had been screaming and getting into everything. He kept getting in or getting out of the pen and then wanting back in. or emptying out 5 lbs of staples on the ground. He would play for a little while, then want to be held.
So I looked up at BR, holding this snot nosed little brat and asked him just how in the hell I had managed to get screwed into all of that work while he stood there.
"luck of the draw I reckon" was his awnser.

So, BR stapled the wire up and I picked up my toys and headed to the house. He said he was going to make sure there was enough staples and Rayley stayed to hand them to him.

When we got to the house, Bow went right to sleep. He was wore out. BR came in, had some lunch and then went back to work.

After he went I went around and picked up his drill, and hammer, and bits, and such and put them away. So we could find them next time. I swear, he has sat string for the weedeater on the counter before, and then the NEXT summer, a YEAR later, when he needed it, got mad because it wasnt there anymore. I ended up getting a 5 gallon bucket (its camoflauged, I won it at the wild turkey banquet, and has a seat cover on the lid) and setting it under the counter where he stacks his stuff, so I could clear it off every once in a while and I just shove it in there.

But the pen is done. Till it dawned on me that we hadnt built the lean to yet. I will have to get the tin and some lumber to build that next week.

Oh and I did finally get the splinter out. it was huge! at least a half inch, and as big around as a pencil. Okay, not a full pencil, but as big around as the lead. and not the lead in a mechanical pencil either. (BR asked me that, when he asked if I ever got it out and I told him yes).
I ended up having to split the entire length of it with a knife, and dig it out. cause it didnt just go under the skin, it went in at an angle and was pretty deep.

I am almost certain it was pert near poking out the other side. But BR said I was full of it.