As soon as I had it assembled and got it outside, Chester made it clear that he was outraged by our new lawnmower. Mind you, this was well before I actually started the thing. I'd only taken it out of the box, straightened the handle and pushed it out into the yard. I'm still not sure why the new lawnmower was such an affront to Chester's sensibilities. Maybe the engine struck him as overly large and environmentally unfriendly. Maybe he thought that the self-propelled drive was a showy luxury. Or, it might have been that the grass-shoot was yellow. I don't know. I'm sure of one thing, though: It took me twenty minutes to get ready to mow, including picking out mowing music and finding my headphones and looking for my sneakers … and Chester spent all twenty of those minutes in the yard barking non-stop at the new lawnmower.

Granted, Chester was never on the best of terms with the old lawn mower, either. He'd usually sit and scowl, watching me gas it up and try to start it. Once I'd get it going, he'd follow me around the yard for the first several laps, barking with rage and horror.

Tilda, on the other hand, has become utterly complacent about lawnmowers in general. Then again, Tilda is generally indifferent about everything these days, except for Bak'n Treats and her squeaky fish (she heartily endorses both). It didn't used to be that way. There was a time w hen the two dogs maintained a united front in opposition to lawn care. I'd be out in the yard, dripping sweat and shoving the mower, and the two dogs would be lock stepped behind me in protest, their canine cacophony echoing through the neighborhood in a glorious song of dissent:

"Hey Hey!
Ho Ho!
This Briggs And Stratton has Got To Go!"

These days, however, Tilda has lost the passion. Now she just lays under the oak tree and looks at me, hardly mustering a defiant fish-squeak.

I suppose that there are a number of possible reasons that might explain Chester's ongoing mow-rage. It could be that he hates to see me cut the grass that he's spent so much time trying to fertilize. Maybe, with his short legs, he likes having five inches of grass to hunker down and hide in. Personally, I tend to believe that he just has a strict policy against anything noisy that humans push around. I've noticed that he's not overly fond of the vacuum cleaner, either.

Still, a new summer is in the making and Chester is simply going to have to put his lawnmower prejudice behind him. Besides, Tilda is saving him a space in the shade under the oak tree.

Labels: Personal