This was the sight that greeted me this morning on the backporch.
Yep, those are the carefully planted fall garden starts. If you remember, I'd been tracking their progress, comparing the ones started in our compost to ones started in Miracle Grow. Well, Dexter seems to think they tasted about the same. Or at least the little newspaper pots rip equally well.
Oh, the carnage!
Okay. There may have been some not-so-ladylike language and perhaps even a Croc shoe hurled in his direction. Please suspend judgment. It was, after all, before 6am on a Saturday. And, no kids were around to hear the language or witness the violence. And, I've been nursing these plants for a couple of weeks now.
When John and I came home from running our 5K race this morning and were famished, just like the kids we came home to, I proposed barbecuing Dexter. It was such a nice day out, we could just string him up over the fire pit, I told them. We put it to a vote and I lost, 4-1, so I guess we won't be eating him, after all. . . . Or maybe they just don't like the idea of barbecue. Maybe they'd go for a little CrockPot Canine. ;)
If my kids didn't love him so crazy-much, I'd be serious about finding him a new home. Maybe I'm going to have to fence in my garden area. . . . and all the kids' toys . . . and my outdoor furniture . . .
Uggghhh. Even after the horror of discovering the dirt-strewn porch this morning, I couldn't help but smile as I watched him and Girl 2 chasing each other around the yard, -- she in her pajamas; he jumping like a trout on the line to higher than her head. They absolutely love each other. I think that if he and my garden could just figure out a way to peacefully coexist, we'd be good.
Suggestions?
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