A little while ago I told the tale of the gnome and the budgie.
Sadly the budgie is no longer with us. He came to an unfortunate end when a large lump of wood was dropped, severing his plaster torso from his body.
The gnome lives on, and is frequently moved to various parts of the garden by J Boy. Whenever I encounter the gnome, he makes me smile.
As cute as the little fellow is, it’s not him that makes me smile. Rather it’s the thought processes of the five year old for choosing the gnome’s location that gives me mirth. Here, the gnome stands in a hole dug by the dog. The gnome is guarding the hole, making sure that the dog will not dig in the garden bed again.
See. No dog dares to dig.
Which makes me think. I ought to put a gnome here.
or maybe here:
or I’d even consider posting a gnome sentinel here:
Because, whatever your opinion about garden gnomes, you must admit. They are far more aesthetically pleasing than the fillers that The Accountant has been using to deter the dog from further excavation work in his favourite holes.
So, do you have a garden gnome? Or do you have a dog that digs?
Our dog is strictly an outdoor dog. It’s always been that way, so feels no malice towards us regarding the arrangement. In fact, if you try to get him indoors, he won’t come.
We had been getting A LOT of rain lately. It’s very welcome considering that we have been in drought for years. On Friday we had a spectacular storm. It was windy and the outdoor toy equipment was smashed or blown away,(we’re still missing one section of the play gym.) sheets of water were getting blown into our outdoor area – the dogs favourite hangout. The dog was petrified and didn’t know where to take refuge so I took pity on him and invited him inside. He came in straight away, a sign that he was scared and miserable. I didn’t want a smelly wet dog sitting at the door though, so I tried to walk him into the garage. The dog was very reluctant to move any further then the one step into the house. After cajoling and dragging him, I put him in the garage and mopped the paw prints away.
J Bomb thought it was a great adventure. “Why is Bronco so scared to be inside?” he asked.
“Because he knows he’s not allowed inside and didn’t know why I was letting him,” I replied, “It’s the first time he’s ever been in the house you know.”
“Except for the time I locked him in the pantry.”
Yes. He did. How did I forget that event? I don’t know who was more horrified, the dog or myself.