“Forgive me, Fido, but I really never thought about what you were doing back in there. I know it’s a spot you like, but I’ve never really followed you, except to holler at you for digging around in someone’s yard.”
Fido made that “pulled-a-fast-one” grin on his puss.
“Hey hey hey hey! Just look!”
Fido had dug some semi-straight furrows in the dirt. Not really dirt, actually, but Mammoth dirt. That is, some dirt, mostly pumice.
“What is this, Fido?”
“It is my ‘Field of Dreams.’”
With that, the big old conniver reached his blue-splotched tongue (it’s a chow thing) and dug out a bit of sloppy dog biscuit from his jowl.
“Watch this!” he cried. “I’m going to take this bit and bury it in the Field of Dreams. Just watch!”
Sure enough, he dropped that nugget of a biscuit—he calls them “Biscuit McNuggets”—and carefully buried it in one of the furrows.
“Fido, what’s the meaning of this really? You’re planting biscuits in your Field of Dreams?”
“Not just any biscuits,” Fido said, “but organic biscuits! I got a few of them from some of the guys on the Hound Council. They’re great! They have all the good stuff.”
“They have buckwheat, ginger, chamomile, lavender, sage, blueberries, a touch of honey and some cold-ocean kelp. They’re grain-free, too.”
“What about the buckwheat, Old Man?”
“Total misnomer,” Fido said. “At least that’s what I heard. It’s actually a berry! Humans get all confused about that. It’s more like rhubarb or sorrel.”
He pointed his nose toward the furrows.
“This one will be for ginger biscuits, the next one will be for berry biscuits, and another one will be for pumpkin biscuits.”
“Fido, what’s this other furrow for?”
“Fido’s Surprise! Hey hey hey hey!”
“I’m not sure this is going to work,” I said. “You just can’t drop a piece of food in the dirt and expect to grow fully-baked biscuits. Farming is hard work, and there are steps that go with it.”
“I’m not doing anything else, you know,” Fido said. “It’s not like I have to go to work, or have a wife, or any of the other things that can get in a dog’s way. I get up in the morning and start thinking about biscuits!
Now I can grow my own!”
“Fido, you are one big adorable sweetie. I sure hope this project turns out for you.”
Fido sensed my doubt. Maybe it was the tone in my voice. Who knows with a dog like Fido? He’s not altogether guileless.
“You doubt, but you’ll see,” he said.
With that, we turned tail and headed for home. Fido checked his wristwatch. Not 20 seconds later, I heard the spout-spout-spout sound of a sprinkler system. When it reached full bore, sprinkles of water began to fall on Fido’s Field of Dreams.
“Happens every morning at this time,” he said, “and every evening.” He puffed out his chest in pride.
“Fido, you might not be as crazy as I think you are.”