Green, Green Grass

WHEN OUR FAMILY moved across the country, everyone had a designated spot in the car, including our golden retriever Annie. Although she was told to stay in the backseat with one of the boys, that wouldn’t do. Before long, she squeezed into the front passenger seat, sitting in another boy’s lap—heavy, furry and bony. After a while, our sons abdicated the front seat because her incessant moving, circling, nudging and licking was too much.

Annie was only familiar with doing her business on the soft, velvety green grass of our 2-acre lot. As the landscape became more and more arid, those grassy spots at rest stops became few and far between.

Finally, at the last gas station, Dad told the boys to be sure she “went.” When it was time to leave, he discovered that the boys and Annie were clear across the parking lot. Amidst the gravel and cement, Annie had found the one green weed that stretched weakly toward the southwest sun, and was doing her thing.

Thankfully, our new home has a generous spread of grass just for our beloved Annie.