It's Spring. Finally. Where is My Master Gardener?

I've started my gardening ritual: removing winter weeds, pouring slug bait on everything, trimming plants, and general cleaning. It's weird without Peter hopping around pretending to help. It feels very quiet. There seems to be more weeds and his former trails are no longer maintained. Of course. Constant reminders he gone. If I think about it too much I feel sad. So I don't. At the same time I must admit, it's much easier to negotiate the gardens without chicken wire protecting everything from his voracious appetite.

 

I hung my fake hornet's nests, too. As I was attaching one to the garden shed I noticed the roof is starting to get squishy in places. It's old. I guess I'll need to replace the roof. There is a step to the front door made from a huge block of wood. It's been rotting for years, but too heavy for me to move. As I'm poking the roof of the garden shed checking for rot, I gave the step a good, quick kick. It fell apart. I'm surprised I could still step on it without it collapsing. So I took a hammer, donned fashionable, yet protective eye wear, and pulverized it into small, rotting pieces.

Even this reminded of Peter as the hole to his Under-The-Garden-Shed condo was right next to the step. I had blocked it with a large stone to keep predators out in case Peter had indeed died under there. I also reminisced about the wool sweater I sat next to the hole one night that disappeared by morning. I was pretty sure Peter drug it under the shed to use for a bed which was my intention. I hoped it would keep him warm. When the rotten step was removed, I thought I should look under to see if I could see anything. I couldn't. Something was in the way.

I found Peter. He had made a nice little bed for himself of old rabbit fur and grass...and an old brown sweater. He looks like he died in his sleep. Very peaceful.

Sigh.