Love Is

I planted the monsoon garden. It's a raised bed in cinder blocks and keeps the plants above any sogginess when it starts raining in late May. It will rain every day through October, with the most intense rain and heat at the end of July through the end of September.

In October it stops raining. The dragonflies come back, and eat all the mosquitoes. We are released from our air conditioned hibernation, and the snowbirds start to arrive.

The planting seasons start in February/March for southern and tropical crops, June/July for trees and shrubs, and October/November for annuals and vegetables typical to a New York summer.

This is all very official and orderly sounding, I'm sure. I even planted in rows, with little plastic labels.

Enter Stella, who is not yet two.


My neat rows of sunflowers, amaranth, okra, borage, scallions, peppers, zinnias are...comingled. Deeply, deeply merged.

There must have been such joy in this act. It is known by Stella that Dog + Garden = Alpha Female Glower & Snap. But no amount of my displeasure was significant in the moment of freshly tilled soil underfoot.

I'm sure she just thinks my garden makes me mad. Although she seemed to know she'd been bad, but that could have been my body language rather than recollection of previous warnings.

Later a friend's mother called to update me on hospital things, and I was distracted. Stella wanted to go out, and I opened the door, fool that I am. I did. I let her out again. Alone.

That's how I know it was so satisfying, and such a joy. Because it was worth my severe disapproval. So very worth it.

I've now got to walk Stella on a leash in the back yard, or at the very least be out there with her the whole time. This should not bug me, as it is perfect weather and I should be out in it more anyway. And she doesn't need to go out as often as she'd like.

What ever may sprout can stay where it's landed, and I'll tuck some more seeds in the bare spots as soon as I know where they are.

Stinking, wonderful, pesky puppy.