dirt

I moved four of six ferns, I think. One for sure that has to still go. And other stuff. I am learning what goes where, what does well where. Ferns don't like to be touched. If you pass to close to them, they turn brown and wither. So I planted them along a walkway that Sid doesn't use. And I finally took a proactive step other than fencing to keep him out of the flower beds. I've read books on creating dog-friendly yards -- dogscapes -- but it would be like living on the moon. I like ferns and hydrangeas and roses and lavendar and stargazer lillies and and and... and he doesn't care about any of that. I don't want to poison him, and won't, and I don't want to spray pet-be-gone all over the place. That can't be good. So I compromised and took a lesson from my elders. Rose thorns. Elizabeth, the old German lady that used to own this house, kept cats out of her flower beds by placing rose clippings -- foot long pieces of thorny branches -- here and there on the ground. Mean, huh. And I've been against it all this time. But really, it seems the least invasive means of keeping him to his space, shrinking as it is. I know I'm going to hear it from a. I know it. I'm sorry. She is a much better person that me. Much. But we take him for runs all the time, and he won't shit anywhere but the back yard. He's as neurotic as we are. Oh, I'm feeling bad about this.

Well, I must pick blackberries and make jam. On with the domesticity.