As we cross the threshold from a lovely Ohio spring to welcome in the Summer Solstice, I’ll refrain from reminding everyone that it’s downhill from here.
Well, that didn’t go well, now did it? By not reminding you that we just enjoyed the longest day of the year, I actually kinda did. Remind you, that is. You know, every day from here until the Winter Solstice in December will be shorter and shorter.
Enough with the downer talk on this gorgeous Ohio summer day. In an attempt at atonement, I offer you a delightful photo of Miss Holly enjoying a moment in the afternoon sunshine. On the longest day of the year. We had time.
Ok, you say. That’s nice. But do you think you might take her leash off for a prettier puppy photo? Isn’t this is your backyard?
Oh dear astute reader, you are correct as usual. But you see, we had a minor mishap. Some puppy misbehavior and similar goings-on. And I find it easier to catch a trailing leash than the elusive puppy tail as it races by.
|must … find … love …|
Oh, for the love of nature, you cry. Just look at those roots! That’s still in the shape of the seedling container. You just planted those poor things mere minutes ago, didn’t you? Those flowers should have been in the soil …
I know, I know. At least a month ago. You see, I have a good reason for waiting so long to plant my flower bed. Because, well …
1. I hate gardening.
Sure, hate’s a strong word. Maybe that’s a little harsh. I’ll try again.
1. I really dislike gardening.
2. I’d rather be in a dentist’s chair.
So I put it off. And by mid-June, the back flower bed still looked like the terrain on Frodo’s trek to Mordor. An expanse of lost hope and broken dreams. Until I finally motivated myself to plant some sticks of color into the ground.
Still, I say you’ve missed the point here, Dear Reader. That clostridium didn’t simply jump out of
the barren earth by itself in an attempt to find a more loving home.
Clostridium? you say. Um, that’s a bacteria.
Huh. Ok then. Colostrum? Coelacanth? Wait no, that’s a fish that was extinct until it wasn’t anymore. Shoot, I don’t know. It’s a Latin word for chicken head or something. I remember seeing it on the plastic tag thing with the plants.
Here ya go. I planted a bunch of these.
Ah, you say. Might you be referring to the Celosia? The cockscomb?
Right. That’s what I said.
Anyway, you’ve completely derailed my train of thought there, Amtrak.
In preparation for the tender young thing that is Holly, we did a sweet job of puppy proofing the house. We eliminated all dangers – real and imagined – and put any valuables out of easy reach of inquisitive puppy maws.
On the inside of the house.
I admit I didn’t really consider the allure of rooster head flowers in the back garden bed.
In the mind of a young pup, what’s the little girl to think? One day it’s a bleak expanse of dirt and the next all these fluffy headed things appear.
A moment of exploration, a sniff in attempt at identification.
Friend or foe? asks the puppy noggin.
Toy, answers the gray matter. Grab it and run! Run like the wind, Little One!
But hurry, the puppy brain continues. Because there’s a bunch of them. And the Food Lady wants to play too.
And that, people, is why Holly is wearing a leash in my backyard.