These two topics have nothing in common except their alliteration.
Seeds were duly planted on the first of February: spinach and bachelors buttons in the earth box. I do hope the seeds are compatible. I also potted indoors: thyme, basil, snapdragons, tomatoes, marigolds, and coleus.
The following day I bought and added eggplant seeds.
Wow! Here’s hoping something sprouts. And that the summer is not too hot. And that I improve my gardening skills to keep the plants alive.
Sophie. Meanwhile, it’s Sophie’s turn to shine in a blog. She is at least 13 years old and takes two supplements for her joints. On our walks, she plods. She trudges. Her slowness is increased by her tendency to sniff at every leaf or twig or rose hip in her path.
She’s also very hairy, having lost her groomer to retirement. I am now the giver of baths. After her second bath I attempted to clip her coat, but the set of clippers I bought were not up to the job.
Another sad occurrence was that after towel drying, the ancient pet dryer refused to blow. It definitely heated up, but exhaled no warm wind. So I brushed and brushed, as much as she would allow.
She wasn’t completely dry when I put her on the floor. She was impatient to escape that room, so I let her go. This plodding dog scampered up and down the hallway. What went on in her mind? Was she drying her still damp hair, or simply celebrating her freedom?
For months now, I prepare a twice-daily dish of food, leave it on the counter, wash my hands, and herd her into the living room to apply her dry-eye medication.
Once done, she knows her food is waiting. I grab her dish and set it down just outside the door. It’s actually shorter to circle in the other direction but for me that means turning back around once I have her dish.
After her meds, I make a show of racing to the food and Sophie chases after me. Then I had some poky days where I didn’t feel like quick-stepping my way to her food dish. She began taking the short way and waiting. I would congratulate her, “You beat!”
I thought she had gotten smart. But no. When I put on a little speed—or even simply look at her—she’s back to running after me.
I tell her “I beat!” As if she cared. She’s in it for the fun.
There’s a lesson somewhere in this. I should spend more time doing things because they’re fun. Maybe we all should,
Kate Harrington 