A little tale for a Sunday that ends with a big, dead bush.

This is one of those little tales that tells us something at the end. I think. I'm not sure what it's going to tell us yet, but I think it might have something to do with why my subscription to my handling system has led me to a career as a five faulter. And I shall tell you this tale through gardening.

Wait. Stop laughing all of you who know about me and gardening. Let me explain. Did you ever get the idea I might be the kind of person who can work really, really hard at something but perhaps do it in a completely retarded way because I did not exactly follow the instructions because I am unteachable or my attention span is somewhat short? Like if I were a dog, I would not get awarded border collie status. I don't even know what status. You tell me. I'd sure like to hear that.


So. When we bought our house long ago, the backyard consisted of cement and a tree. It was a beautiful magnolia tree, with blossoms and ugly cement, in some places 2' thick. And I decreed, it would all go because all of a sudden I was a landscape architect and I would design a perfect backyard as seen in Sunset Magazine! I was in that phase. Pre-agility career. Because I know what all your yards look like. Although we are talking about enough space in my yard for like one giant sized plastic penguin only, let alone weave poles. So anyways, the tree got chopped down, a whole story for another time, and I ripped out that cement with a sledge hammer and a jackhammer. And I started to collect plants from places such as the side of a road in a garbage bag, flap of cardboard taped on that read FREE. And then I began to collect the same way I collect plates with log cabins on them and deer items and molding taxidermy and broken digital cameras and then we had millions of plants. And just ask Joel Warner about the whole rock patio and flattening the dirt fiasco.

And then these so called plants grew and I grew tired of gardening and moved onto other new endeavors. And then the plants eventually started to kill eachother, survival of the meanest, and my husband grew cranky and wanting the yard that had at some point looked at least interesting and yet hardly Sunset Magazine as promised. Since my landscape architect skills often involve hanging silver reindeer from things and plastic horses, Sunset Magazine was a stretch. In MY mind Sunset Magazine, to the naked eye, a yard full of crazy. So he said, perhaps in All Your Free Time you should do some more gardening but DON'T CUT DOWN THAT BUSH WITH THE RED FLOWERS. Sort of blocks the neighbor's house and I think he likes those red flowers.


And I got home from work early yesterday. And he wasn't home. And I thought, I could do that gardening I've been putting off for the spring   this year like 3 or 4 years. And I got the big clipper things. And you know what the only thing I ended up cutting down was, right? I couldn't help it. It just happened. Wait. Did this tell us anything about dog agility? I am pretty sure it does. Because I think some of you, my five faulter friends, might have done this same exact thing. I am not totally sure what I'm getting at or what the moral is, but at the very least. Thank god dog agility does not involve power tools and hedge clippers.