Everywhere it’s greening-up. Temperatures are warm so grass is on an all out burst of spring growth that says, finely, it’s spring. Thank the shelled god. I don’t know if I can take it anymore.
Oh, it’s green all up and down our street but not yet in Frankie’s yard. Everyday, every single day, I have to take Frankie on “grazing walks” through our neighborhood so he can graze on fresh green spring grass.
Every single day Frankie reminds me there is no grass in his yard. Several times. Loudly. Frankinator style.
If it’s cold I get in the car and drive to places where grass and weeds and clover grow abundantly. There I am, little old lady, hunched over, picking grass next to busy city streets. I try very hard not to wave my derriere too high at passing cars but I just know everyone is getting an eye full of my rear. As always I wonder if they think I am homeless. Or mentally unstable. Well, at least I am not homeless.
On warmer days Frankie get’s walked instead. Down the driveway, turn East, take a pick of the next two yards. The first is green with winter rye grass with tiny clovers budding underneath. Next yard down, the house for sale, is abundant with weeds.
Once we are headed East I give Frankie his pick of yards. I hold vigil while Frankie munches away. Occasionally I have to turn him back to the yard or drag him out of the bushes. Monday was a great day so I really didn’t mind spending an hour tidying up the yard (my offering/trade for Frankie’s graze time).
Frankie seemed a little extra restless so after the hour is up I led him East down the street so we could walk the cul-de-sac before going home.
Frankie resisted the Eastward direction to the point where I just let him turn around and head home. He wanted to walk so I let him walk. Until we got to our driveway.
At our driveway I gave him the turn toward home cue by putting myself between him and the direction West he is walking. He proceeded to walk over my feet to continue West.
I don’t care if he wants to walk a bit more but West is not where we are going because that is a busy throughway street and not a friendly neighborhood. I grab Frankie by the shell and turn him back toward the drive.
The walk up the drive turns into a battle of wits, strength and guile. I got in front of him, turned him about and otherwise pushed him up the drive. Frankie was going West regardless. There wasn’t two steps taken that wasn’t part of the battle of direction.
Finely I win because there is a short fence between my house and my neighbor’s house and Frankie can no longer turn West. I can tell …read more
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