In the garden with Mulligan

Now, I adore my Mulligan (see her pic at the top of my blog), my sweet pupster, but sometimes her doggie behaviours irk me. Take this week, for instance, when I was beginning to think about gardening, after a long cold winter followed by a very lazy spring. A new plant I stuck in the ground last year tried its darndest to peek out from under the giant peony bush, so I cut back the peony and wished and hoped that this new (read "expensive") plant would find the sun and not drown in the excessive rain of late April and early May and would make a go of it in my backyard. A few new leaves appeared; I thought it might struggle into glorious burgundy "flame" (the name on the tag included "flaming" something or other to describe the colour). The very next day, while I was out in the yard on scooper duty, I noticed that my beloved pooch had started a new hole, right where my new plant was had been trying to survive. Struggle no more, little plant, now in two pieces and completely extruded from its nice warm bed of mother-earth. I think the dog was trying to get to the other side of the world, by the looks of that gaping maw she excavated. I said goodbye to my little plant and vowed to never buy a new plant for the backyard again, especially after inspecting my new hostas, which were showing signs of shredding from repeated "there's a raccoon! there's a raccoon!" stompings at 5.30 am.
Update on the hole: I allow Mulligan two spots for holes in the fence-hugging garden beds because (1) she's a dog, (2) it's really her yard, and (3) we have too many rabbits in this neighbourhood to expect a dog not to dig near a fence when she espies a rabbit. However, I may have to watch her a little more carefully when digging is in the offing, as her second excavation of the new hole resulted in an injury that could have been terrible: she skinned her carpal pad (that pad about two inches above her foot on the back of her front legs) so badly that it bled. She is an enthusiastic digger! It seems to be healing fine today, after a worrisome yesterday. So, not only does she irk me sometimes, but she worries me often; not entirely her fault since I am a worrywart.

And then I get to enjoy the cuteness; man, my dog is cute. She was resting in the warm grass on the front lawn, under our baby-tree, sniffing up the neighbourhood while I pruned the euonymous shrubbery at the front of the house. No leash, no rope, just my periodic vocal reminders that I was watching her. And her second-favourite place is looking out our upstairs window, which she sits at right now while I'm typing. When the light is right, the neighbours can see her, surveying her kingdom: they always tell me that they wave at her, so they think she's pretty cute too. This pic is of her with the badminton gear; Dan taught her to come get a birdie from him and bring it over to me while we were playing badminton in the backyard.
Enough gushing about my dog; I just wanted to write it down somewhere, how much I enjoy my pupster, even when she's irksome or worrisome, she's still actually pretty cute -- you should see her dig that hole!