Warning: This article comes with a Government Health Warning and is not intended for the squeamish reader.
After a series of bizarre incidents I have come to the conclusion that a statement is being made about my garden seating arrangements, my plant selection and my garden art. Lilo is bright, but would you say that expressing an opinion on such matters is beyond a dog ? I think not.
Lilo's contribution to the Garden and Art Festival has been nothing short of show stopping. It began of course with smashing through the garden gate and terrifying the first visitors, following The Great Runaway described in her last blog.
The next day I was escorting the second group of the morning through the garden. Having just completed the same circuit, I knew everything was looking good. As we all rounded the woodland path and came to the patio, my table setting looked very odd. Unbelievably the table top was covered in earth, as were the chairs€¦€¦..and a lot of it.
It didn't make any sense. The visitors were either blind or polite and did not comment. I let them go ahead as I tried to work out what on earth (pun) had gone on. Peering into the nearby ferns, I was greeted with a long black nose with mud up its nostrils. Sitting in a freshly dug gigantic World War One bunker was Lilo. Her expression was triumphant. The visitors went on their merry way; Lilo fell into a deeply satisfying sleep in the shade, leaving me to hose the mess away, causing rivers of sludge just in time for the next visitors.
Day three of the festival arrived, it had been a very busy time and the routine of escorting visitors was now a well-oiled machine. Down the woodland path once more where the small group of ladies were beginning to slow down and show knowledgeable interest in my rather spectacular Hostas. They were bending and peering and commenting. To my absolute horror I saw the next Hosta about to be examined had been visited€¦€¦€¦€¦€¦ very recently by €¦€¦€¦ Guess Who ?
For fear of making readers physically sick I will not describe the appearance of the deposit, complete with blow fly, which was placed in the centre of a striking Hosta leaf - for all to admire.
Quick action was needed; I distracted them with utterances of "Oh! Don't miss the fifty year old potted maple on the other side of the path!€ That did it; they turned as a cohesive bunch and gave me the opportunity to give the Hosta a swift kick, dislodging its heavy load, and to fix a plastic smile on my face. Needless to say The Black Angel (not) was sound asleep on the sofa.
Later, as part of a garden make-over, I decided to sell some pieces of oriental garden art. I set the ornaments amongst plants, took photos and ran the advertisements. Bingo! An interest party wished to visit. A time was made. The day came. Checking that each piece looked nice, I made a cup of tea and waited. Wandering out again with my tea, I was aghast at the unbelievable and revolting sight which greeted me.
Absolute panic set in - I had under ten minutes to dismantle the dish, wash and dry the white stones and put the setting back together. Donning Latex gloves and armed with a hose and simmering ill feelings, I carried the oriental dish and its awful contents onto the lawn. I can tell you that fresh sculptured dog poo + many dozens of sticky small white stones in a concrete dish, coupled with a hose and panic equates to utter shambles. I picked the offending heap off the stones, but dozens stuck to it so that it resembled some mad artist's vile work. The remaining poo in the dish and the stones shot everywhere with the first blast of the hose. After frantic hosing and scrabbling in the grass I gathered up more dozens of clean white stones and just got them back in the dish with not a second to spare. The enthusiastic buyers arrived, said it was just what they wanted. What could one say?
The even stranger thing is that Lilo has her Dog Loo Spot which she uses every day without fail. It is by the main gates. She likes to sit centre stage and view the passers-by as she does her dog-business. Not a view that the passers-by relish, I imagine. But it's her spot and that is that.
So this leaves me to the only conclusion possible - Lilo does not like my taste in seating, plants or art. Poo Hoos it one might say.