It was my big-boned sister's turd, and it was she who flung it. I was about seven years old at the time. Suzie would have been about eleven. Our cousin, Ben, was a year older than me. The three of us had been walking through the woods on the way from his house to ours. We were nearing the end of the path through the woods where it led into a field when Suzie complained of having to take an urgent dump. She said she wouldn't be able to make it home in time; she would have to do it right there.
In her usual bossy way, she laid out the rules. She instructed us to walk ahead and wait in the field and warned us not to look back or try to watch her squat. So we went and waited for her. When Suzie came out of the woods, Ben headed back in. He said he suddenly needed to take a pee and would be right back. She told him we'd walk slowly and he could catch up.
It took him longer than it should have. We were nearly to the far end of the field, about to enter another wooded area, and still didn't see Ben behind us. I already knew he was up to something other than peeing, because I knew him for the twit he was. He was devious and annoying. Ben was an asswipe.
We had turned around and were walking back to look for the asswipe when we saw him emerge from the woods fifty or sixty feet away. He was holding part of a dead tree branch out in front of his chest the way a drum major holds a baton. It was about three feet long and as thick as a broom handle. He marched toward us with military precision, moving the stick up and down as though he were leading a marching band. At the top of the makeshift baton, stuck in a stubby fork at the end, was a fat, oblong ball of Suzie's poop.
I laughed hysterically as the poop ball rose and fell in time with Stars and Stripes Forever, which Ben was ta-da-de-dahing as loudly as he could. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen up to that moment in my life, so it was with absolute delight that I ran to join in. I fell in behind him and marched along playing an imaginary drum.
That is, until I took notice of Suzie's body language. She didn't seem to be enjoying the parade. Not at all. Evidently she was offended by us playing with her shit.
I dropped out of the procession and stayed back. Ben marched on, oblivious to an impending confrontation. My humorless sibling was tensed up, standing there with an ugly scowl on her face. When Ben got within range, she informed him that she would be kicking his ass as she bolted forward and gave him a good smack on the side of his head. He dropped the stick and ran. Then he stopped, turned, and began to taunt her. She grabbed the stick, got the turd more or less reattached at the forked end, and shouted "Catch it, Jack-ass!" She hurled it with an enthusiastic grunt.
In the hands of a novice shit slinger, poop on a stick is not an accurate weapon. Suzie had swung the shaft directly toward Ben, but the heavy projectile flew off at an angle in my direction and soared high into the air. First I could see it, and then I couldn't -- the sun was in my eyes. I tried desperately to spot the poo or at least determine its trajectory. I was unable to do either, so I just guessed that it was coming in toward my right and ran to the left.
That's when the turd suddenly popped into view again. It looked much bigger close up. It thumped me hard below the left collarbone and shattered. Chunks of it hit my knee and the top of my foot on the right side and my forearm and hand on the left. Smaller fragments were stuck on my neck and under my left jaw. The stink was overwhelming. I can still remember the t-shirt I was wearing that day because the hideous image of green and white stripes overlaid with brown shit was burned into my brain forever.
"At least I got one of you creeps! It's not so funny now, is it, creep?!"
"Nope, not so funny now," I thought. But I paid little further attention to her, and I ignored Ben's obnoxious laughter. I was too busy gagging and panicking and trying to take the shirt off without getting more poop smeared on my body.