Marking Your Turf

Any man who owns a sizable piece of property who claims he hasn't peed on it is either a liar or wears a colostomy bag.

We might not share much biology with wolves, but psychologically we definitely have the Pee Gene ("Markus Territorius") in common. There's something very pleasing about splashing about on the back ninety, like planting a very watery stake in the ground that says "MINE!" Now granted, you can take the concept too far, as the woman at HEB claims I did when I was "claiming" my truck in the parking lot, but the principle stands.

I like to imagine that marking the fence line will repel rapacious coyotes. They'll come up, hungry for horse or donkey meat, and encounter the manly fruit of my kidneys (can liquid be a fruit? maybe the "fruit juice" of my kidneys, then) which causes them to flee in terror. It's much likelier, of course, that they'll immediately start drawing straws on who gets to be first at the buffet.

"Smells like Microsoft, Bill."
"Break out the forks, Bob, I'm goin' in."

Still, 101 acres is a lot to cover. I think I'm going to have to invest in some shares of Diet Coke ("Billions and Billions of Gallons of 'Fruit Juice' Produced So Far!") and block out some time if I'm going to get to it all ...