It was a crisp morning on Sunnybrook Farm, and Jake, the new farm hand, was gearing up for another busy day. Fresh out of the city, Jake was still adjusting to the country life. His boots were too clean, his plaid shirt too neatly pressed, and he still flinched every time a chicken got too close.

"Jake!" called Mr. Thompson, the farm owner. "We've got a big job today. The manure spreader broke down, and we've got to move the compost pile to the south field by hand. Grab a pitchfork and follow me!"

Jake hesitated but forced a smile. "Sure thing, Mr. Thompson!"

The compost pile was enormous, steaming slightly in the cool air. Jake's nose wrinkled at the smell, but he didn't dare complain. Determined to prove himself, he grabbed a pitchfork and got to work, flinging heaps of manure into a waiting wheelbarrow.

Things were going smoothly--until they weren't.

As Jake balanced a particularly hefty load, he didn't notice Daisy, the farm's overly friendly cow, sneaking up behind him. Daisy, curious as ever, nudged the wheelbarrow with her head, sending it wobbling precariously.

"Whoa, whoa!" Jake shouted, trying to steady it. But before he could react, the wheelbarrow tipped over, spilling its contents onto the ground--and onto Jake's boots.

"Great," he muttered, shaking his foot.

But Daisy wasn't done. Seemingly entertained by the commotion, she gave Jake another playful nudge--this time harder. Jake stumbled forward, his pitchfork flying out of his hands as he fell face-first into the pile of manure.

A loud splat echoed across the yard.

Jake froze, half-buried in the steaming heap. Slowly, he pushed himself up, manure clinging to his clothes, hair, and face. He spat out a bit of straw, his expression a mix of shock and defeat.

From the barn, Mr. Thompson doubled over in laughter. "Jake, you alright there?"

Jake wiped his face with a gloved hand, only smearing the mess further. "I think I'm getting a little too close to nature," he muttered.

The other farmhands gathered, chuckling as Jake stood, manure dripping from his overalls. Even Daisy seemed pleased with herself, chewing lazily on some grass.

"Well," Mr. Thompson said, clapping Jake on the back (carefully avoiding the worst of the mess), "I reckon you've earned a long shower after this."

Jake grinned despite himself. "Just as long as Daisy doesn't follow me in there."

The farmhands burst into laughter, and Jake couldn't help but join in. Sure, he was covered in manure, but he was also covered in a sense of belonging--messy as it might be.