"I love the smell of manure in the morning!" Crazy, I know, and a poor paraphrase of Duvall in Apocalypse Now. However, I have a reason for loving the smell of manure.
My father trained thoroughbred race horses, and when I was young, my father owned a horse stable at the Lakefront. My childhood was filled with the wonder of horses. I loved them, feared them, and respected them. Daddy was practically a horse whisperer. Stallions who reared and bucked when others placed a bridle on them were like lambs with my father. I loved stroking a horse's nose and offering him or her carrots and sugar. I also was my father's little helper. I watched him brush a horse down and soon learned how. I cleaned hooves and mucked out stalls. My father, sam, let me haul shavings in a small wheelbarrow. I mucked out stalls with a rake then spread the shavings. Sam was with me at those times, and we bonded over horses.
Sam loved the racetrack. Even after he'd had a stroke, my father reapplied for his trainer's license and worked again. It was at the racetrack he died, tending his horses. Therefore--when I smell manure at the track, I'm home again, watching Sam train his horses.