Freddie and the Forsythia

As my mom used to say, spring is our reward for surviving yet another winter in the mountains of North Carolina. It’s a balmy day, a few fluffy clouds drift lazily across a wide expanse of blue sky. A slight breeze ruffles the leaves of a holly bush.

I sit on the patio admiring our colorful back yard and watch squirrels chase each other around an old Maple tree as they try to establish territorial bounds. Near the hedge dividing our property from the next lot, a couple of blue birds chirp excitedly as they investigate the house my husband built for them. My gaze wanders to the forsythia bush where a scarlet cardinal preens himself among the yellow flowers. I smile as I remember the day I planted that shrub. It was a gloomy November afternoon last fall, and the wind nipping at my upturned collar carried a hint of snow.

I have as good a sense of humor as the next person, and I needed it that day. If I took gardening too seriously, I could not have survived the antics of the canine that lives next door.

There are many adjectives to describe puppies. They’re cute, cuddly, loving, loyal, and mischievous. The pup that rules the house next door is all those attributes plus one more. He’s curious. I’ve heard curiosity kills a cat, but that doesn’t apply to puppies—at least not to the eight-pound fluff of fur that answers to Freddie.

He is a Heinz 57 mutt in the minds of most people, but our six-year-old neighbor, Brittany, insists her pet is a special breed known to only a few people. I can’t vouch for that, but I can affirm that Freddie is a special canine. He is always willing, make that eager, to lend a hand—uh paw—to any project going. Consider, for instance, the day I planted the forsythia. Whoo-eee! What a good time we had. Well, one of us did. Freddie escaped his fenced yard and came to help, yipping all the way. I should have been grateful, right? Oh, I was. I was.

In the event you ever decide to plant a shrub when a puppy is around, it is probably best if I instruct you on how to proceed in only a few easy steps. I’m not the world’s greatest gardener, you understand, but in the interest of all human beings who want to beautify the planet Earth, I will put forth my best effort.

First, you accumulate the needed accouterments: a spade for digging the hole (I do better with my trusty trowel, but suit yourself); dead leaves for mulching; a water hose attached to a spigot; and a puppy for company. Oh yes, don’t forget the shrub.

Put on gloves. Pick up spade. Put down spade.

Gently move puppy out of the way.

Dig a hole half again as deep as the shrub container and six inches wider all around.

Allow puppy to sniff your gloves. He’s going to anyway.

Pour water in the hole and allow it to drain. This is a good time to explain to the puppy that although you love him, he would be a bigger help if he sat off to one side and watched. He will probably grin at you and ignore your words. Freddie did.

Put down the puppy and pick up a double handful of leaves. Put down the leaves.

Lift puppy out of the hole.

Pick up the leaves again and scrunch them, mix with some of the soil removed from the hole, and place the mixture in the hole.

Dodge the wagging tail brushing your face.

Remove shrub from its container and loosen the balled roots slightly. Put down the shrub.

Lift puppy out of the hole. Ignore the mud he leaves on your jeans.

Pour water in the hole again and allow it to drain. While this happens, cuddle the puppy and explain to him—again—that less help is better. Don’t forget to say please. He’s sensitive, you know. Kiss the puppy’s nose and set him behind you, not that doing so will help, but hope springs eternal.

Place the shrub in the middle of the hole.

Try not to crush the puppy when he crawls between your arm and your body.

Place more scrunched leaves and soil around the shrub. Pack lightly.

Gently move puppy’s digging paws.

Place more scrunched leaves on top of the ground for mulch.

Move puppy out of the way.

Water the shrub.

Sit back and admire your handiwork.

Accept puppy’s face-licking kiss as thanks, and watch, with a rueful grin, as he initiates the shrub into the real world of shrubbery.

See what I mean about Freddie? He was helpful every step of the way. As spring brings forth the colorful flowers, I wonder if he remembers the day we planted the bare-limbed shrub. I do, and laugh aloud as Freddie again escapes his fence and joins me to enjoy the results of our labor.