Here is a picture of the outhouse, the building where I work, at the open window. In England an outhouse is an outdoor toilet, but in Norway et uthus is a small shed or farm building, which is what this was until we arrived. Now it’s just the hens who live here: in the lowest level, below the ramp. Our guests sleep on the top floor, under the skylight. The photograph is from last year, the cherry blossom won’t be out again until mid May.
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A Bad Guide 
That is just so not what I think of when I think of an outhouse. Are the goats allowed inside?
I had to dodge some goat ‘droppings’ on the way in just now, but that’s an unusual event. They aren’t really allowed in however, yesterday Vesle made a dash for it when I opened the door. She loves to hide under my desk next to the electric heater. When I tried to push her outside again she used a tactic she has perfected of lying down and going limp, like Ghandi. She just invented it one day: lying there she becomes all floppy like a jelly, or perhaps a soufflé, and is unmovable. The others have never discovered the effectiveness of passive resistance. If they all did it, they could move into the house today.
I would love to have an out-house (not an “outhouse”) like this to myself.
So that was the problem. Yes, exactly. It’s an out-house, of course.
I don’t have it completely to myself. The hens are downstairs and they make a bit of a noise when they lay an egg, but it’s a pleasant noise and a perfect place to work.
It’s not either an “outhouse” or “out-house” to me, as they would be pronounced the same. Those would be much smaller and have corncobs inside, or the Sears catalog. I have heard of “out-buildings” though. Visiting these buildings could be used as a euphemism for a “nature walk”, if you get my euphemism.