Over the past two weeks, Bosco has learned the most important lesson there is:
His person is batshit crazy. Late spring brought an activity that he cannot comprehend: Gardening.
I love to play in the dirt, and gardening is the socially acceptable way to do that. When Bosco moved in last August, the plants were at their full maturity. My favorite photo in the whole world is of him on his second day home, sitting in the garden. But Bosco didn’t know that the garden didn’t plant itself.
Now it’s planting time. I started two weeks ago, by preparing and repairing. I had to fix a fence that was no longer vertical, and replace a huge lattice system that Sandy ripped down.
This meant that I’d be spending the better part of the day outside. And I thought that this might be a good way to help Bosco get over his dislike of the back yard. I think I mentioned before that the noise from my neighbors makes him nervous. A few hours outside – discovering that regardless of the noise, nothing was going to get him – might help him feel more secure.
I hauled out all my tools, and saw that “Mr. I pick things up I put them down” was very interested in them. I had a flashback to 20 years ago, when my Dad’s dog chose to relocate the wrench and bolts he needed to put the oil pan back on the car. So I told Bosco that he had a very important job – to make sure none of the tools moved.
He took this responsibility very seriously, and not a single item was misplaced – because he sat on my tools. Getting them out from under him wasn’t particularly efficient, but it beats desperately hunting for a drill bit.
The fun began this past week, when the actual digging and planting started. He was extremely confused when flats of annuals took up his yard. I planted for a couple of hours after work, and Bosco was with me. We did not have the greatest success. He thought this was the stupidest thing ever.
If you look closely, you can see his mad pointy eyebrows. It was almost 9 pm, and everyone knows that Bosco goes to bed at 7:30.
On Saturday, he hung out on his cushion all day and supervised. Everyone in my neighborhood was an active participant in providing random noise, and it didn’t faze him at all. Each time I went inside, I gave him the choice to stay in or go back out, and he chose out every time. This also meant he was awake for twelve straight hours.
He hit his limit on Sunday. It was wet, and he was hungry. He decided to eat grass and hurled, which really upset him. And the hillbillies down the block were in rare form, which really really upset him. He pawed on the back door, begging to go in.
I was afraid that we’d tried too much, and undid the amazing progress we’d achieved the day before. But after supper, he asked to go out again, and wandered around smelling the flowers.
Bosco likes gardening.