I woke up as usual at four a.m., tackled in-house tasks, and then went out to the garden to deadhead and feed every plant that might appreciate a nip of fish guts and sea kelp. Today, though, I felt really tired, and my legs were lead-lined. Something wasn’t right…but the work had to be done, so out I went. The garden wove its magic, as usual, and soon I was well into my stride.
The front garden wanted attention next, so that’s where I was when a jogger paused to chat. “Hi! Is this your garden? I love to run by here every morning.”
I looked up, grinned, and tried to say “good morning,” but nothing came out! I tried again. A deep, gravelly croak emerged. Good heavens! A frog had crept into my voice box!
Noting my confusion she said, tentatively, “Oh… you must have a bad cold; that’s why you’re wearing a veil…”
“No,” I protested- I haven’t a cold… it’s for mosquitoes and gnats… but I’m amazed by this basement voice.”
I sounded so ridiculous that we both laughed. Or rather, she did. All I could produce was a hoarse, choked gasp.
Laryngitis was in full bloom.
And that realization marked the beginning of a confrontational, peculiar morning.
A bit later a twenty-something man and his rather large dog sauntered by. The animal sniffed happily next to my fence. Finding a delectable scent he lowered his shoulder to roll in it. His owner, ignoring me, jerked the leash to discourage the behavior. Resigned, the dog sniffed again at my daylilies, and assumed the position. A huge load later they began to walk away, leaving me kneeling there amid his deposit’s objectionable perfume, feeling shocked at the fellow’s colossal indifference to doo-doo etiquette. I was supposed to pick up this mess? Uh-uh!
Assuming an outraged ‘woman on the warpath’ position I stumped right up to him. Skewering the man with a glare and trying to appear as fearsome as a 5’ tall old lady can look, I pointed behind him at the steaming offense and said in my deepest frog-vampire voice, “Clean. That. Up.”
Unnerved by my-ah- unique sound, he turned back, red-faced, and muttered, “Yeah, yeah, fine.” He used a stick to poke and wheedle the pile of pooch poop toward the street while the dog and I watched. It seemed to take forever.
Finally the last big turd was nudged into the gutter. Arms folded, I fired off one more sally in my deepest basso profundo voice.
“Next time, bring a doggy bag.”
He muttered something (‘…old bag…’)? as they walked rapidly away, and shot me a look that seemed to say, “Imagine waking up to that every day!”
Thoroughly rumpled by his attitude, all I could think to toss back was-“Ribbit!” before continuing my work. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate gardens.
Just before opening time a young woman pulling a small boy in a bright red wagon paused to say hello. “Your flowers are lovely! We’re on the way to the Farmers’ Market to buy some, too.” The boy gazed at my mosquito-netted face with intense curiosity. Without thinking I returned her greeting, and his face blossomed into a huge grin.
“You sound awful,” he stated firmly, and I heartily agreed.
“I woke up with a frog in my throat, young man, and it won’t leave. Got any suggestions?”
He thought. “Cough it out! But take off the net or he’ll get stuck!”
I coughed carefully, lifted my net, waited hopefully, then sighed.
“He won’t budge!”
“Eat lots of ice cream! Froggies don’t like ice.”
“Hey! Great idea! Thanks,” I croaked. (It was!)
He beamed.
“Say something else,” he pleaded.
I obliged, and tried to sing ‘Ba-ba Black Sheep’ in my best frog-in-a-pipe voice. It was hideous, and I faltered after the first phrase. He listened, rapt, then clapped as I went mute, defeated.
Laughing, his mother said goodbye, despite his vigorous protests.
“Nooo… I wanna hear more! ”
She pulled away, waving, while he continued to toss out suggestions from the wagon.
“Throw up!”
“Squeeze your neck real hard!”
“Do cartwheels- he’ll get dizzy n’ fall out!”
Oh boy! The first passerby’s doo-doo indifference had left me indignant and out-of-sorts: here was a young boy who cared!
I grinned, moved wearily into the house, and downed some ice cream.
Why not?