This morning’s tomato watch was less serene than usual. My dog, a floppy, white two year old pit bull named Lucius seemed determined to sully the meditative state required for writing (heh). While I tried to closely observe a sunning, metallic green fly on the heirloom plant, he plopped gracelessly on to his side and started noisily licking at the spot where his balls used to be (fixed, poor fellow). By his insistence on repeating this action, I can only assume that ball licking is programmed into canine DNA and must be some kind of biological imperative. It’s a lapping, sucking sound that really is my nails-on-chalk-board. I ordered him out of the garden and moved to the grape tomato. As I held leaf between my fingers and rubbed its soft down, the noisy rush of urine assaulted my ears. He stood two feet from me in the grass.

            “You pee like a girl.” I told him. His ears pricked up and he tilted his head to the side, then finished up and walked back into the garden where he started munching on weeds (I have no idea why he does that). That noise is combination vacuum/leaf blower alternating between snorting and huffing. So I gave up, scratched him behind his soft ears (which are my favorite thing about him) and  headed inside.