The Dirt On Booker

Mud, an inch thick, coated the pavers beneath the planter.  Flowers, bent and broken, looked as though a monster had tossed them into a blender and hit the “puree” button.  Booker, our beloved husky, rounded the corner of the house to greet me with pink tongue wagging, blue eyes shining, and white paws very, very, unwhite.  Not again.

As promised in a spring blog, I said I would update the results of the planter as the summer progressed.  Well, things are not growing, er, going, as hoped.

At first the flowers in the planter were thriving and Booker seemed oblivious to their existence.  I watered and weeded and prayed.  My husband patted himself on the back for thwarting his dog from digging by placing wire mesh over the top of the planter.  The assortment of foliage grew and blossomed, as did my expectations.  But then something happened.  A chipmunk happened.

A few weeks ago Booker decided to put a hit out on a particularly chunky chipmunk that lives behind the planter.  It’s hard to say who started the war, but by time I realized what was going on 90% of the flowers were gone.  Booker had once again emptied most of the dirt, plants, and dreams of greenery.  When my husband came home from work I gently took his hand and asked him to gaze out the patio door.  His shoulders slumped.

Today the planter sits like a tomb.  Mounds of dirt, devoid of life, remind me that to love a pet means a certain amount of sacrifice.  I’m not sure I remember clothes without pet hair, or a yard without holes. And you know what?  I wouldn’t trade a bit of it for a more pristine life.  Dogs, dirt, and drama?  They are the best part of my day.