Don’t ya just love yard work? I do when it’s finished, although I can’t stand doing it myself. But since my husband managed to leave it to me again this year, I had to grit my teeth and just do it. The front yard grass isn’t growing. No problem there, don’t have to mow it yet. Backyard looks like a beautiful field of knee high grass blowing in the breeze. And me without a lawn mower. (Both our mowers broke last season.) So, I dig out the old standby, my electric weed wacker with 2 billion foot long extension cord that always manages to somehow tangle around every tree and rock in my yard.
Now before I explain further, I’d like to tell you about our dogs. We seem to be stray central. We have six dogs, five of which we didn’t want but can’t get rid of. They like to eat…and dig…and bark all hours of the night and day…and especially poo. Yes, I said it. Big mounds from our big dogs, little tiny mounds from our little dogs. Too bad they can’t be taught to use a litterbox like our cat. That’d make life so much easier.
Back to yard work, the grass is about knee high in places, making it very difficult to see all the little surprises the dogs have left for me. So I jump right on in and find out that the grass is pretty wet nearer to the ground. So as I am gently swinging the machine from side to side in a rhythm I can only hear in my head (mostly because the decibels of the wacker keep me from hearing anything else) I hit one of those lovely little surprises. Wet grass, wet poo, wacking machine with an RPM of about a thousand, you can start to see what I am getting at. As the poo comes in contact with the blades, they travel not out like I would have hoped, but straight up. Blah….I turn the machine off and wipe my face looking in disgust at the rest of the yard I need to get to. Can’t stop now.
My weed wacker buzzes on, I am still eager to get the grass hacked to pieces, only now, I make sure my mouth stays closed.
