Dig, Dig, Digging No More

I dig in the snow.

I dig in the doggy pool.

I dig on the carpet.

I dig in the side garden.

I dig in the vegetable garden.

I dig by the cherry tree.

I dig under the forsythia bush (my favorite).

My love of digging has always been a bit of a sore spot between me and my family; a sore spot with some definite mixed signals mixed in.  They have no issue with me digging in the doggy pool and they actually build (and rebuild) snow mountains for me each winter.  But the concept of me digging on the carpet or in the garden is seriously frowned upon.

And oh, has my family tried to discourage my digging in inappropriate places over the years.  They've turned the vegetable garden into a "Land of No" with the assistance of a metal portable fence.  They've blocked my favorite digging spots with flower pots (which I run off with), buckets, garbage can covers, and broken pieces of fence.  They've blocked my access to my favorite carpeted areas with books and chairs.  They've cut back the forsythia to make my digging area less private.  And, as I mentioned in a recent post, they've developed a sixth sense when it comes to reading my mind and can therefore head me off with a stern "no" when I've merely look at a patch of dirt.

Yesterday, however, Ma took an epic maneuver in the ongoing battle between my digging and the welfare of her garden.  First, she filled in my latest hole under the forsythia bush.  Then, she planted four cement pavers right in the middle of that prime digging real estate.

 
Touché, Ma; well played.  But don't think for a minute that this war is over.  I'll come up with a way of reclaiming my favorite digging spot!