The day my husband left town, I came down with the flu that I thought I had dodged weeks earlier when my kids had it. But oh no, it lurked in my system until when I needed to be healthy the most.
While the sickness was ravaging my body and my mind, my gardener stopped by to ask me if I wanted him to fertilize my lawn.
I thought at the time that it was kind of a silly question. Of course I want you to fertilize my lawn. It looks bad. It looks like hundreds of dogs have been cavorting on it.
Because they have.
Now, when my gardener told me he was going to fertilize my lawn I was thinking he would mow it and walk back and forth on my lawn with one of those plastic seed spreader things with the windy handle on the side and some of that plant food pellet stuff in it.
Well then he said he also wanted to reseed my lawn and of course you know what I thought: That ol’ seed-spreader contraption was going to be pulling double-duty with the seeds and the plant food.
Sure, I’m down with that Antonio, sprinkle away, but right now I need a couple swigs of Nyquil, a Benadryl, and I need to wash it all down with a shot of brandy.
Then he stopped me and told me he really wanted to do it right this year. He wanted to cut my lawn really short, then aerate it, then seed and fertilize it.
Wow, I thought, that sounds good. “Yeah Antonio, you go and give my lawn the works” and I’ll go feed my head.
“Ma’am, did you want me to sprinkle some dirt on the seeds so the birds don’t eat them?” This was the pivotal moment. All my addled brain could muster was an image of Antonio sprinkling handfuls of dirt from a bag over the seeds he had sprinkled earlier on my lawn.
So I said “Sure, that sounds fine.” I turned and headed to my house and the long set of stairs to my Nyquil, my Benadryl, and my brandy.
And fell asleep.
I awoke with a start and noticed the long shadows across the yard. I went to the window to look at my lawn…WTF…My lawn had been replaced with what looked like the LaBrea Tar Pits.
I stumbled down my stairs and out my door to my landscaper’s truck, which was backed up onto my lawn dumping its last load of STEER MANURE.
Last I checked, steer manure does not equal dirt.
Luckily I was there in enough time to stop Antonio from putting Steer manure on the lower lawn.
My neighbors are now not speaking to us because the odor of steer poop is holding them hostage inside their homes.
It will be interesting to see what happens when my house fills up with dogs and it rains.