Greedy Beastliness, Omnivorous Division

I love my dog Llewellyn. Yes, I love him very, very MUCH.

But I kinda sorta like my garden, too. And I really would like it if my dog would approach it with an attitude of live and let grow . . .

And it would be nice if I could let him out by himself in the back yard without having to watch him every minute.

But I can't. I really can't.

The end of May, I planted broccoli and Brussels sprouts in one of my garden plots. They were a little leggy at first, but they took root and prospered. About ten days later, I noticed a leaf or two off one of the Brussels sprout plants. Bird? Maybe. Rabbit? Doubt it; my fence keeps them out. Squirrel? Do squirrels eat plants? I didn't know.

But the next day, I was out back and from a distance noticed Llewellyn slinking along the garden path with something green in his mouth. I thought it was a piece of lettuce, and there's plenty of that to go around. But then I looked more closely, and ack! he was in the crucifer bed, experimentally ripping the leaves off both broccoli and sprouts!

Idiot dog. Apparently the leaves smelled like food, so he'd rip off one, chomp down on it, find it bitter, and spit it out on the path. Maybe the next one would taste good! Rip it off, chomp down on it-- no, that one's bitter, too! Try again!

Until this is what I had:

Damn.

Week or so later, I put in some more Brussel sprouts plants to replace the crucifers Llewellyn killed. Then I let down my guard. The plants were getting to a size where, I told myself, the leaves would smell as well as taste bad, and my dog would leave them alone.

And the plants grew. By late this afternoon, I had heads on two of the three remaining broccoli plants, about the size of a grade-school child's hand. Coming along, coming along . . .

Early this evening, after turning my back on my dog for a couple minutes, I had this:

Bloody 'ell!!

Oh, it could be worse. He could be the sort of dog that eats slippers, suede brushes, and windowsills. I mean, broccoli is good for him. But his stealing vegetables out of the garden is not good for me feeling very happy with him.

Greedy beast! (As he lies sleeping beside my chair, looking ever so innocent . . . )