Ollie never misses when he pees in my garden

Grandson Ollie visited my workshop yesterday on one of the busiest days of the year.

In fact, when we took a break and walked to The Village for a coffee and freezie pop I told a Roaster regular I was busy busy and couldn’t stop to chat.

[After several weeks of preparing birdhouses for a local craft sale (Gathering on the Green, June 6th; US and UK visitors - 10% off; book your flights now) the shop needed a good clean out. Dust was to the ceiling but I kept at it until the place shone like new. And though my vacuum sucked two palm chisels out of a rack (note to self - don’t toss the dust until you sift the contents) I can breathe again - and I found my car keys!]


["US and UK visitors - 10% off": photo GAH]

The shop is now so tidy grandson Ollie has claimed it as his playhouse.

He enjoys sweeping the floor with a small broom, rearranging scraps of wood in my outbox and running in and out dozens of times with a supply of energy as great as my supply of scrap lumber.

My two and a half year old mate has visited so often lately I can now tell when he has to pee. And busy or not, his training is more important than finishing my screen door project.

So, out we go to the wooden walkway (neatly swept) at the edge of the garden, strike the pose, and before you can say Pepto Bismol he’s watered my Brussel sprouts.


["This way to the Brssel sprouts": photo GAH]

Sometimes he waters his running shoes at the same time - but he’s young yet.

And though I know he’ll soon get the hang of it I worry a bit about my sprouts.

Fortunately, harvest time is a long way off.

***

In case you’re wondering, the answer is no. I don’t pee in the garden.

Behind the blue spruce? That’s another matter.

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