It occurred to me that one of the ways that people make up for rubbish jobs are great titles (with no extra pay, oddly) The senior chief flow control sanitation engineer is supposed to feel better than 'bloke what cleans toilets.' I need to stop the mindless work of collecting and disposing of the successful transformation of lots of money into horse-poo. It takes no thought (and in fact you would rather not think about it)And thus I have decided I want up the social scale of assistant junior stable-hands (horsepoo-shoveller class IX, trainee). You have silversmiths, tinsmiths, wordsmiths. Gunsmiths even. They all make something greater from their raw materials.
As a journeyman dungsmith I make piles (and not of money, except in the sense that the stuff I am piling was once money, before it was magically transmuted by passing it through a horse.) They are much much greater than the raw material. And indeed it's astounding just how much it there is after just one night.
Barbs proved more accurate by accident with a ute than I am with a rifle tonight. I was just behind her and did a quick mercy killing (with the knife I'd get arrested for in the city) as it wasn't dead. The gut of the wallaby was undamaged, so I brought the dead wallaby home and dressed it for the dogs. I have got faster. Our local pro does it in about a minute. I'm down to about 10.