Ivan and Dasa are dedicated little gardeners. They roll in the grass while I tend roses, clamber through basil bushes, and generally keep watch over the proceedings, even when they obviously think the entire process is futile. As they’ve pointed out several times, I pulled weeds last week, I’m pulling weeds this week, and this seems to have no effect. I should, they feel, attempt to be more entertaining.
Their dedication cannot be faulted however. Unless it’s too hot or the grass is wet or they get bored, or they have to run to the fence to check on a noise down the block, they’re right there beside me. They nap in the sun, yawn, stretch, trot around to check on all the nooks and crannies in their back yard, come back and snooze some more. I have to collect the grass I pull from flower beds because Ivan is sure this was left for him to snack on. He thoughtfully munches grass, wanders back and forth through the peppermint until he smells wonderfully refreshing, and checks on my progress. Sometimes my regal elegant boy lies in the grass near me, paws crossed, and waits while I toil.
Dasa is much more willing than Ivan to get her dainty white paws dirty. Now and then, she develops a strong aversion to the plants I’ve installed, and feels it necessary to dig them up. She does this with great enthusiasm, sending the plants flying out into the yard behind her. I replant them, only to have an exasperated little girl speedily dispatch them back onto the grass. Her disdain is quite apparent. And the plants, having no fortitude whatsoever, promptly give up and die after the second trip through the air and onto the grass. I’m sure they offended her in some way, so they probably deserved this. Dasa sighs with satisfaction when I gather up the rejected flora. Some plants are simply not meant to be in her backyard.
Our front lawn languishes in neglect because it isn’t fenced and the munchkins can’t offer their help and supervision. It isn’t as though I like yard work so much that I want to do it without them.