There must be something about freshly laid pine needles that makes a dog think they are expressly for her. There must be something in their chemical composition that causes her to lose a good chunk of her marbles. There must be something that says, “Hey, my owner just got the yard looking so nice it could be the cover of a magazine. So, why don’t I go completely berserk and make it look like NASCAR ran a race?”
Goodbye, pretty yard. Why did I even try?
Let me say this, for legal reasons: I love my dog. Sweet, adorable, precious mutt. Brings so much love and joy to the family. A faithful companion. A family protector. A wonderful compatriot to my daughter. Hasn’t given any of us worms. (Bonus!)
But there are times when I think about trading her for a guinea pig, or a stick of gum.
Like the other day, when I thought I heard a troop of wild elephants barreling through the yard. “Is there an earthquake?!?” I screamed, running around the house, peering out windows, expecting to see trees shaking. “Are we being invaded? Have aliens finally come to steal our ice cream?”
I gazed out the window and caught sight of a brown flash — just a streak of manic energy racing by and a cloud of pine needles floating in its wake. Pine needles I had just dutifully laid amongst plants I had just put in the ground.
“Was that the dog?!?” I gasped.
She streaked by again, tongue dangling out, flames erupting from some part of her body.
I gasped.
No, that isn’t true. It was a gasp, but also laced with a lethal combination of words that scarred the inner workings of my daughter’s eardrums.
“GET IN HERE!!!!” I yelled as she zoomed by again.
The dog appeared, out of breath. Proud of herself. “I fixed the pine needles,” she seemed to be saying. “Fluffed them up. Made them BETTER!”
Whole patches of the yard were now bare. Pine needles were pushed into piles. Little plants I had just bought were trampled, their limbs badly mangled. The appearance of my yard went from manicured to mange. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought I lived in a meteor crater.
“You’re welcome!” said my dog’s face.
It’s the sad reality of life: That what brings one creature joy inflicts terrible pain on another. As I strolled through my wasteland, I knew I had no one to blame by myself. This is what I get for liking nice things. For working hard to make the place look good. And for not remembering that the chemical composition of pine needles is like catnip to a K-9.
Goodbye, pretty yard. You are but a fading memory now.