The Weather is Weaselville this past weekend was simply gorgeous. Taking advantage of the fact that I just received a round of cortisone shots and being pain free, plus the fantabulous sunshine, we decided to get some much needed yard work done.
The flower gardens needed to be cleared of all the mucky winter buildup and needed a fresh layer of mulch. The Obstacle Course garage needed to be cleaned out and reorganized to avoid being a fire hazard and the itty bitty little vegetable garden in the backyard needed to be cleaned out, expanded and upgraded to a raised bed platform. A trip to the local DIY garden center and way too much money later and it was time to get started.
I enlisted the help of the Weasels with some of the weeding, while I pruned back and trimmed the overgrowth. Boy Weasel was put in charge of cleaning out and reorganizing the garage.
This all sounds very Suburban Storybook like, but it actually went more like this:
"Get back here and stop playing with the dog!"
"Mom, can I have a Popsicle? I'm hot." (after 23.4 seconds of work)
"Look Mom, I found my old frog tanks in the garage. Can I get a new pet?"
Throw in the neighbor kids popping in and out and Weasels disappearing to go play. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. It took all day, but it felt good to be outside and by dinner time the front yard and the garage were finished.
Sunday morning was the start of the heavy work. Cleaning out the vegetable garden and working to relocate the strawberries that had taken everything over. I worked to till up the soil with a spade while the Weasels were tasked to dig through the soil and clean it of any grass, rocks and weeds. In reality, the Weasels played in the dirt while competing to see who could find the biggest worms and give them all names like Jim Bob, Big Jim, Little Jim and Jimmy Tim.
"Mom, Can we have some dirt and worms for pets? We already have tanks in the garage!".
Weaselville definitely marches to the beat of a different drummer. I'm not opposed to any pet, as long as A) They don't cost me money to feed or house. B) I don't have to be their caretaker. I did the math in my head. Worms in tanks in their bedrooms are no skin off my back. Their low maintenance. They eat dirt, don't smell, bark or do anything, really. They would also work as a great incentive to get the job at hand done.
"Yes, you can. *If* you help me get this done quickly, you can get the tanks and take some dirt and worms".
After 2 hours of back breaking, ground breaking and hand tilling, Mr. Weasel appears in the backyard with the weed wacker, beautifully fitted with a roto-tiller attachment. He came in and cut through the soil like a high powered Ginsu knife. In about 2 minutes time the soil was soft and ready. I just shook my head and wondered aloud "Where the heck were you 2 hours ago?".
Just as that thought crossed my lips, Boy Weasel and Monkey Weasel return to the excavation site, their arms filled with clean and empty tanks and their hearts ready to welcome all of the Jims I did set a limit of 5 each into our home as dearly loved companions from the soil bed that Mr. Weasel just sliced and diced through, with what turned out to be a food processor for worms and dirt.
The light bulb went off in my head and Mr. Weasel's simultaneously. We shared a telepathic look of mutual recognition before I burst out laughing at the dark humor and realization that the garden bed was now full of worm puree.
Luckily, for the Weasels, they were still able to save a handful of Jims from their brutally harsh captors and they are now living within the safe confines of the Weasel bedrooms, eating dirt. So, yes the Weasels have worms.
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