The sun rose and we headed out, eager to enjoy this glorious day in the yard. Tim launched the “let’s build a deck that cantilevers over the water” project while I planted and planted and planted: pots for the side porch, pots for the patio, pots to contain the rambunctious mint that is overtaking our more well behaved herbs. Then it was on to the vegetable garden, and finally, the bed of cut flowers.
Many hours later, the sun began to wane and so did we. That’s when my sweet husband suggested we take cold beers to the yard and sit for a moment, feet up, soaking in the last light of this perfect Memorial Weekend Saturday. We’ve done a lot of work today, he said. Let’s take a moment to enjoy it.
We settled in, discussing this and that, as my sweet little dog—who had been at my side for every dig, squat, and cover—made her way to the flower garden. Very un-Little-Bit-like, she started to nose around in the mulch, then tiptoed a couple of feet in, looking for all the world as if she might just plop down on the rows of tiny blooms. Tim and I watched in amazement (horror?), wondering what she was thinking, wondering what would happen next, wondering for all the world if our sweet little companion—a rescue dog so easy and eager to please I simply couldn’t fathom defiance—would look me dead in the eye and plop.
Plop she did, right on top of the Petunias.
We couldn’t speak, neither of us, so shocked were we that she’d done it, so shocked we just sat there, exhausted.
That’s when Little Bit lowered her head to the ground, this time ever so gently, nestling her nose between the green shoots. She lifted her tired eyes toward me and I knew, understood right in that very moment what she had to say.
You put a lot of love into this garden, she said. I want you to know I love it, too.