Wednesday, June 9, 2010
One thing is certain – Wimbledon will not be held in my backyard this
year. (Trust me; the backyard doesn't look so good in real life. This is a glamor shot.)
I can’t tear the ugly brown lawn out fast enough.(That’s not true, of course. I could go faster, but it’s rather a stinking job.) And I’m lining a new series of rectangles with river rock. Only now do I realize they look like coffins – at least while they’re curing.
In the top photo, see the ugly cyclone fence to the right? That was supposed to be Albert’s dog run, something he has refused to enter since Day 1. If I force him in there, after he’s eaten all the unripe apples off my espaliered tree for example, then he gives forth with the most alarming and annoying barks I’ve ever heard. No, they’re not barks; they’re the high-pitched yelps that travel for miles on the Serengeti.
So then I let him out so he can go back to eating squirrel vomit and unripe tomatoes.
He’s awful, and he’s all mine. I just know deep in my heart, he’s going to live longer than any other dog I’ve ever had.