Is the grass greener on the other side of the fence? Well, I don’t have fences in my yard so I can’t confirm or deny that, but there is one thing I definitely know - the grass is softer on the long side of the mower.
Let me explain. When my mom is out mowing the lawn, Ellie and I enjoy being outside with her as she does this chore. It is a time for reflection in the cool evening air. A time for fellowship with all the little woodland creatures.
Ha. Who am I kidding? It is a time for Ellie to annoy our mother.
To be honest, my mom gets us started. Every time she mows past us, she keeps up an endless chatter. It’s like she thinks we’re at a ball game and her job is to be some sort of frenetic fan that harasses the other people at the game. If Ellie and I lie in the long grass, the part she hasn’t cut yet, my mom chatters at us every time she passes.
“You two girls better move. I’m getting close to you and if a rock takes your eyes out I’m not taking you in to the clinic.”
“C’mon, you lazy dogs. You are about to be run over.”
“Really? You move one foot away and then plop down? I will run you over, and then don’t come running to me for help.”
She often says these things in a little sing-song voice that make it sound like she WANTS to run us over. Like a fan at the ball game with a chip on their shoulder.
Eventually, when Ellie and I finally move to go hang out on the short side of the grass, she stops her chatter. There is no longer any need to monitor our activities because we are safe and out of her way. Tedium rises to the surface and vigilance settles back to the depths. Back and forth. Back and forth. She is in a zone and forgets about us.
While we’re on the short side of the mower, we watch for activity on the street. Lift our noses to the breeze and ferret out the wildlife activity on the edge of the woods. But pretty soon we get bored, so we head back over to the long side of the mower. The soft ticklish side. The chippy, chattery side.
“I mean it. I will run you over. Shoo. Go find a stick.”
Because I am much less annoying than my sister in this regard, I obediently move away from the mower, grab a thick wedge of wood from the mulch, and race around the yard with my prize. Sometimes I toss it in the air, other times I find a shady spot and gnaw on it. Mom will holler, “Go get ‘em, Sophie girl,” and I am cute and adored.
Ellie, on the other hand, is annoying. Lord help us all if she finds one of her tennis balls, because the barking will begin. And the barking will go on. And on. It never stops, because once she finds her ball, she becomes obsessed. Dropping it directly in the path of the mower, she stands over the ball and barks.
And barks.
“Ellie! Stop barking!! You are so naughty. I am NOT going to throw your ball.” My mom means well, but eventually the barking wears her down.
“Man, oh, man. You are annoying.” Nine times out of ten, since the ball is directly in the path of the mower and Ellie is BARKING BARKING BARKING, my mom picks up the ball and throws it. Just like Ellie wants. Now, I’m not a veterinarian but that seems like positive reinforcement of a bad behavior. I would have expected better but, in all honesty, Ellie is very good at wearing people down with her barking. And her ball.
Sometimes Mom simply kicks the ball as she passes by with the mower, like it was an accident. I just roll my eyes at her when she does that because she is still reinforcing bad behavior, and Mom knows as well as I do that my sister is cray cray and now she will never give up the game. One little kick and Ellie goes into her wild-eyed, feet-splayed, open-mouthed spastic display of Where-will-the-ball-go-Where-will-the-ball-go craziness. Bark! Bark! Bark! Cray! Cray! Cray!
At this point, I let my mom deal with the monster she has created and I look for a nice spot of long comfy grass. Or a smooth spot of deck board still warm from the afternoon sun. Any spot will do as long as it is away from all of Ellie’s barking and commotion.
After all, I AM a deep thinker, and I could use a bit of quiet to reflect on life in the cool evening air.
Or to take a bit of a nap.
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