Expect the Unexpected

There are some events you can predict and prepare for.  Then there are others that you cannot.  Apparently, gardening with me falls into both categories.

It happened a couple of days ago.  Ma invited me outside to supervise her while she threw away some spent tulips from Easter and transplanted a preexisting houseplant into the pot that the tulips used to occupy.  Everything was going well--the plant seemed to survive the transplant and I had the opportunity to bark hysterically at someone who dared to walk by my house unannounced. 

But then it was time to clean up.  Fully aware of my love of being involved and determined to prevent me from doing naughty things (i.e. shredding and ripping pots, maiming and uprooting plants, and stealing and carrying away gardening tools), Ma purposely made sure that she picked up all of the following items in one fell swoop:

• the discarded flower pot (a favorite of mine...the plastic is nice and brittle so it shreds easily)
• the spade (a favorite of mine...the handle makes for easy stealing)
• the rubber knee-saving kneeling pad (a favorite of mine...the foam is nice and chewy)
• the scissors used to open the new bag of potting soil (a favorite of mine...like the spade, the handles make for easy stealing and since no one has lost an eye yet it's still considered "all good fun")
• the decorative foil sleeve that the nursery used to decorate the tulip pot (a favorite of mine...it makes a lovely crinkly sound when shaken and it rips easily)

But despite her thoroughness, she forgot one thing.  Did you catch it?  Yep, that's right.  She left behind the half filled bag of potting soil with the rationale that "he's never shown any interest in stealing that before."

Well, there is a first time for everything!

With Ma preoccupied in the garage putting away her supplies, I quickly and quietly sauntered over to the bag of potting soil, grabbed hold of it in my teeth, and dragged it into the backyard (it was a good deal heavier than what I usually steal so I couldn't simply scurry away with it).  For a couple of minutes, I calmly shredded the bag, but then Ma emerged from the garage.  That's when the fun really started.  All of a sudden a game of keep away broke out.  I ran in circles with the tattered remains of the bag clenched in my teeth.  Ma chased after me while shouting at me to "Toss!  Drop!  Give!" at the top of her lungs (I ignored her of course).  Meanwhile, dirt and shredded plastic was flying everywhere!

Eventually, Ma wrestled the sad remains of the bag of potting soil away from me.  Exhausted, I turned around and surveyed the backyard.  It was littered with scraps of plastic and mounds of soil.  Needless to say, I was proud of my work.