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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A tragic little story about troubling events in a man's garden.

Submitted: February 27, 2011

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Submitted: February 27, 2011



It was a bright June afternon and George Pendergrass was on his front porch tending to his magnificent, hanging petunia baskets. He studied the plants carefully, checking for any signs of dehydration or infestation. He was humming to himself quietly as he moved from one basket to the other.

He turned to observe his Japanese Maple trees and noticed his neighbor across the street struggling to untangle her garden hose. "Good morning to you, Mrs Perkins", he said. Mrs Perkins provided a generous wave and returned with, "and to you as well, George". Mrs Perkins refocused her attention on the impossibly tangled mass of garden hose, muttering under her breath.

George loved to spend spare time in his yard and he derived a sublime pleasure caring for the various plants, trees, and grasses that relied on him for their health and survival. He had learned about the nutritional needs for all of his "Green Friends", as he referred to them. He had gone to great pains to design and construct a fully automated, underground irrigation system that had individual zones so that just the right amount of water was distributed to each of his lovely specimens.

George slid the trimmers from his back pocket and started to cut away any dead, or even sickly, leaves from his plant friends. He knew that this act of cutting away dying flowers and leaves was in their long-term best interest. George felt an almost god-like sensation as he passed judgement on each sickly little leaf and twig. "Good, Good, Bad, Good.....", George announced as he snipped. With a handful of clippings in his hands, George turned to head back to the garage when he noticed something unexpected among the shrubs and ground cover. It made him freeze in place. With his torso still still facing the garage, his head was facing the object and his eyes squinted. "What the....?", he mumbled to himself. He dropped the clippings to the ground and took a few steps toward the strange mass that found refuge in his little kingdom. As he approached it, he became aware of a smell. Not the kind of smell associated with flowers and grass and trees. This was a far less pleasing scent. It was a foul odor and George's face was caught in a grimace. He walked up to it and lifted his glasses.

Laying there in the corner of his genetically-engineered, Southwestern hybrid Blue Fescue lawn was a huge, bulbous pile of dark-brown dog crap.

George was stunned. He just stood there and stared at it; mouth agape. He knew that the acids in the canine excrement were already eating away at the delicate root systems of his prized lawn. His breathing quickened and his anger started to surge.

"Did I leave the side gate open?"

"Did my dog jump my fence?"

"Did I forget to bring my dog back in the yard after a walk?", George quietly wondered to himself as he struggled to explain the presence of the grotesque mound.

"Wait a minute...", He said out loud.

His eyes litted back and forth and his mind raced to put all the pieces together. Then, with one heaving gesture, he realized what had eluded him all this time.

"I dont even have a dog", George realized.

Then there was a brief moment while George fixated on the house across the street.

"Mrs Perkins?", he shouted across the street to his neighbor.

"Yes, George".

"I would like to speak to you about your dog, Parker".

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