Weeds

November 20

I went for a walk today, just as an excuse to get out of the house. I brought the dogs with me.

We have two dogs: both of which are born-hunters. They were my dad's. We had lived in town, but he was born a country boy, and he loved to hunt. Now that we moved to the hustle and bustle of this goddamn city, though, these dogs are locked up in the house all day, not allowed to follow their instinct. I feel sorry for them, so I figured they'd enjoy a walk more than I would.

I fought with them all the way down the sidewalk. They were so enthused at going somewhere that they almost pulled me out into moving traffic a few times. More than once, they nearly knocked over some other people also out for walks. One young woman actually landed on her ass. She was nasty, anyway; no harm done there.

It seemed like forever before I finally found a park. There, I unleashed the dogs. It was against the leash laws, but what the hell. Who am I to care about a freaking leash law? Dogs weren’t meant to be kept locked up…Especially if they’d already been locked up for the last eighteen hours.

Sighing, I settled myself into the long, unnaturally lush grass at the edge of the park, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my knees, watching the pooches tumble and yip and nip across the lawn.

I let myself think about nothing for a while. It felt nice. It was a total waste of time, which I felt I deserved.

A bit later, my eyes fell on this one little, scraggly plant poking out of the grass a few feet away. It looked like a little dandelion. But it couldn’t be. The park managers wouldn’t allow such a thing to touch their precious lawn. It must’ve been overlooked. Lucky thing. So very nearly avoiding death.

I don’t understand why people hate dandelions so much. They are bright yellow, for cripes’ sake. Happy little suckers, growing naively, not knowing that they were destined to die. They even smell nice. Fresh, sweet. Like upturned dirt and green growing things. And they are soft. And when they are old, they grant wishes. I mean, how could a person not love dandelions? Who was the first person to have the nerve to call them a weed?

And how could that person dare think themselves high and mighty enough to play god and decide that those helpless little flowers could be sacrificed for the greater good of… everything else? Who could make such a decision?

When I grow up, I’m gonna have a little plot out back just for growing dandelions. When the neighbor’s complain, I’ll tell them that I refuse to play god.

Leaning forward, I grabbed the choking grass around that little plant and pulled it all out, leaving a nice ring of breathing room for the dandelion.

Yes, that one time, I played God. Or Satan. However you want to look at it.