Homestead in Spring

A thousand things to do starting with, where do I put the poop?
Snow is three feet high still in the back field, but muck (i.e. manure, rotted straw, urine, a couple frozen cracked eggs, maybe a small chicken carcass) is a foot high in the cow shed.
No wheelbarrow's going to make it back to the dung heap. Hell, it's up to my thighs.

Heavy snow broke the frame of last year's chicken tractor, and it needs to be hauled off to the dump. Is it worth it to part it out, pull the nails out, roll up the chicken wire, which isn't even rusty yet, break the 1x2s into stove wood. Damn it. I know the answer, although I'd far rather drag it onto the back of the pickup truck and haul its ass to the dump.

Bother. I should have never started painting that shed if I wasn't going to finish because for months now, nearly a year, every day it's been advertising my refusal to commit to completing a simple task. I can shut the curtains on the unpainted drywall, but the half-bald shed continues to mock me.