Sorrow. Desolation. I came home last night to discover the creature had come back. It dug up my astilbe, broken off a quarter of my wallflowers, completely destroyed the phlox, knocked over my new hosta, and brought anguish to my heart.
This morning I discovered the culprit sitting with her big golden butt right on top of my euphorbia. There were no squirrels. It was Dixie all along.
It means the end of my gardening, and I'm taking it kind of hard. I mean, she's a dog, she doesn't know any better, but I wanted to cry for the loss of my plants, and my plans, and my hard work. Obviously, I can't have a garden. She is not deterred by a simple wire fence. If I put up anything higher I won't be able to work among the plants, so there's no point. Dixie had a lot of space in every other place she lived in. She's a big dog. It seems selfish to deny her the minute bit of bare earth our paved-over condo's backyard can offer just because I want flowers.
Clearly, we have to move.
Actually, I've been thinking we need to move for some time. This is a lovely place, but it costs way too much. We took it because John had one week to find a place for us to live before we packed up and moved back from Tennessee. If we could find a house for this amount of money I might be willing to continue paying this kind of rent, but a two bedroom condo just isn't worth it, especially without a decent backyard for Dixie. So, from now until September when the students come back I will pore over the housing ads. I will spend my spare time looking at open houses.
This weekend, though, I will pull out every plant and put it into pots and start a container garden. I have the feeling it won't be the same.
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