One day my partner and I were charged with seperating a few cows from the herd in a feeding pen (they were pregnant and needed to me moved to a seperate maternity pen). This was not a prestigious task- the feeding pen was really nasty as it was concrete-floored with a stinky, slimy overlay of cow pies (for some reason those dairy cows ALWAYS have diarrhea), but as we were trying to prove we weren't a bunch of tenderfoot pansies we kept a stiff upper lip and hopped to it.

Now, the only way to really tell those cows apart was by a numbered tag on their ear, and as we couldn't survey the throng for our targets very well from ground-level, we started to scale a very large mound of dirt in the middle of the pen to get a better view. There were no cows standing on this huge central mound by the way, and as I said before this was in a concrete-floored pen where dirt would not naturally be in such quantity... alas, neither of us noticed these oddities at the time.

We strolled to nearly the top of the mound, but just prior to the summit we both lost our footing in a curious manner- our feet broke through the solid topsoil into some very soft subterrain. Reflexively we tried to dislodge our mired feet, and in so doing put enough pressure on our unmired feet for them to suffer the same fate. Now deprived of any solid footing, the weight of our bodies drove our legs down even further into increasingly fluid depths, until the support from our hands on surrounding still-solid ground halted us both at about waist-deep.

As you might imagine we were both pretty freaked out at that point, because quicksand just wasn't something we had expected to encounter in a dairy cow-pen. Then I noticed the worse-than-usual smell wafting up from the punctured ground, and was struck by a horrible epiphany. I communicated this revelation to my friend as such: Me: Shit!

Her, not getting it: No shit! Me, clarifying: No, SHIT! Her, realizing: ... Shit? Me, nodding: Shit. Her, in great dismay: OH SHIT!

Yes indeed, we were literally in deep shit. We were waist-deep in a giant mound of pure cow-excrement, which we later learned was created from the buildup of periodic 'cleaning' of the pen with a bulldozer. The nature of it's main component and construction was such that it had become similar in consistancy to a pie or cobbler, with a sun-baked crust of varying thickness atop many layers of viscous substrata; we had climbed too high up this great shitpie, where the crust was less thick, and punched through.

Initially we felt our predicament was utterly disgusting and embarrasing. A short time later it was still that, but also slightly amusing. Still later, after sinking incrementally deeper trying to free ourselves, and after realizing that the mound was plenty tall to swallow us entirely (stop now and just imagine for a moment- the prospect of being cut down in your prime, SUFFOCATED BY DAIRY-COW DIARRHEA!), we abandoned our last small vestige of pride (that we would get ourselves out and never tell a soul) and started screaming like little girls.

The real dairy employees quickly came running, appraised our situation, and nearly died laughing. Then they told us to lay flat on our backs and 'scootch on down'. This tactic worked, though the evil shitpie kept our Wellington boots and we were indescribably filthy at the journey's end. Additionally, gossip travels at approximately the speed of light in small towns, and as a result we were ever after known throughout the hamlet as 'the quickshit gals' or similar derivations.

As grateful as I am to no longer reside there under that odious stigma, I must concede that I totally deserved it. I like having pride again, but I also think it unfair that so few people should have gotten a righteous chuckle from hearing of our embarrassing mishap. So thank you Darwin, for giving me this anonymous venue to share it, and rest assured my friend and I have since become lesser liabilities to our species.

-Kimberly M.

P.S. Feel free to cut/paste/edit whatever as you feel appropriate.

Submitted on 01/25/2005

Submitted by: Kimberly M.
Reference: n/a, personal account

Copyright © 2005 DarwinAwards.com

Daniel said:
Neutral: Personal Account
amusing as heck, but I'm not sure it's life threatening.

Charles said:
Definitely Keep: Personal Account
Assumption: Pile is taller than our correspondent. In that case, this is potentially life threatening and deserves inclusion... though I have to admit, once they realized what was happening, the "scream like little girls" approach was exactly the right thing to do. Excellent story, even if the stupidity is borderline.

Jack said:
Neutral: Personal Account
Daniel, how long has it been since you've been exposed to a large quantity of methane gas (such as might be released by decomposing cowcrap?) Besides which, this is only a Personal Account, not a Darwin nomination.

The Darwin Awards Gift Shop

The Darwin Awards Condom Keep yourself out of the gene pool! A condom in a matchbook, useful for emergency contraception, bachelor parties, frat parties, and important rites of passage. LOADED inside and out with funny quotes and stories. Everyone loves this item! Friends don't let friends reproduce! $13 for Pack of 4