My garden has adjusted to being under my careful watch. I made sure to plant the larkspur under the hanging strawberries, knowing the drainage from the pot would spatter the soil below and result in possibly overwatering any other thing I could have planted there. Sometimes I find myself weeding out seedlings I actually buried in the ground as seeds, a side effect of the dirt being stirred and provoking the seeds to grow elsewhere after the squirrels decided a redesign on the night of planting was necessary.
Those damn squirrels. The dachshund is sometimes very useless and seems more interested in whatever make-believe creature is residing in the trunk of our philodendron. I’m prone to believe it’s the wind, shuffling the leaves together to make weird noises, much like the musical wings of a cricket, but for years (yes, YEARS!) the dachshund has been hunting this thing that lives in the roots of our big backyard plant.
Jack, don’t you wanna get the squirrel!?!?!?
He says, “Whatever. PHILODENDRON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Jack, stray cats have just entered the yard, like a gang of them! GET ‘EM!
To which he replies, “Pssssh. PHILODENDRON!!!!!!!!!!!!”
In my garden, at least, it seems all the sowing and growing is yielding positive results, for the most part. The ground cherries have left me confused and the blackberry bush has been put out of its misery. My tomatoes? They are questionable, at least the ones I started in the hanging planter and eventually moved into the ground. While they’re now a greener shade of yellow, they are producing! The other tomato plants that were started from seed are tall, leafy, and a deep shade of healthy green – with no tomatoes. Is this the give and take game? Why can’t I have tomatoes growing from green, leafy, tall plants? It would make more sense to me, but what do I know.
Another thing that makes no sense to me: the dachshund is convinced the philodendron’s trunk is home to invisible creatures and he refuses to give up the search. It’s is own personal Samsquanch hunt.
Believe me, I have looked to see if anything is actually in the philodendron. I have bellycrawled around this sucker, poking through the tendril-like roots in a stupid (and totally unprepared for any kind of attack) attempt to anger whatever monster lived inside of it and make it come out. Why? Because the last thing we need is a snake-bitten dachshund, seeing as he is already a delicate little guy with an allergy to corn and wheat (his neck and jowls blow up so big that he looks like a pelican) who has once played Let’s Fling The Pissed-Off Pygmy Rattlesnake Into the Sky With My Mouth! and often gets acorn caps stuck in his feet and mulch splinters jabbed into his eyeballs.
Delicate, I tell you.