We’ve had rain lately, interspersed with hours of gorgeous Alberta sunshine. One result of this is that the mosquitos are breeding like winged, vampiric plague bacteria. I think that Canadians bury our memories of the bloodsuckers over the winter, when we can’t breathe through our noses outside without our nostrils freezing shut. We remember the mosquitos as much smaller than they really were because summer is such a glorious season up here that we don’t want to speak poorly of it.
The other thing that’s been going like mad is my grass, except of course in Sherman’s favourite spots to pee. All of a sudden, my backyard grass is so thick and tall that the dog will not poop there and chooses instead to leave his land mines on the sidewalk to the alley. Joy. I think he’s avoiding the grass right now because it tickles his annoos when he hunkers down to do his business.
Here’s the kicker: I’m on strict instructions to lift nothing heavier than a magazine. There is no way in heck I can mow that lawn right now. I think I am rapidly becoming “that” house on my block, where the grass is out of control and no one seems to give a damn.
Maybe I should add a rusty car on blocks under the trees out front to add to the ambiance?
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