Don’t Pout About Drought

California is as dry as my moisture-less humor, as parched as parchment, as arid as Mojave sands on a relentlessly blazing summer…well, suffice it to say that we’re in a drought.  Now, this state has seen many droughts in its recorded history, but this is one of the worst.  And, when times get tough, people rise to the occasion and demonstrate the singular characteristic which has allowed humankind to perpetuate itself:  Survival of the fittest.  Charles Darwin, who was well schooled by his Australian Shepherd, opined that only the thirstiest will survive a drought, because they will resort to any means to obtain water.  When you consider that animals are mostly water (except Dad, who is mostly a desiccated composite of tissue and gooey stuff which science has yet to identify), you can understand the need to kill thy neighbor in order to drink thy fill.

And so it was that I discovered a tiny irrigation line running from my water dish, under the fence, to our neighbor’s yard.  This explained why my water supply had been evaporating at an alarming rate.  I confronted the culprit, an Irish Wolfhound named Seamus who has a legendary thirst and a talent for installing drip irrigation materials.  At first, he denied syphoning my water.  Then, when I brought my considerable legal acumen to bear, he became defensive.  So, employing my superior agility, I wrapped the irrigation line around his neck until he agreed to leave my water alone.

When I explained the Seamus situation to Dad, he was patronizingly complimentary.  He began blabbing about California water rights, the imposition of water use restrictions and the like, and said that my resolution with Seamus, while effective, was a very simplistic and violent solution to a larger, more complex set of problems.  Such problems, he said, must be addressed by learned individuals acting patiently, reasonably and respectfully with one another.  I listened.  Then I “accidentally” knocked over my indoor water dish so I could witness first hand my learned companion as he patiently, reasonably and respectfully cleaned up the mess.

Later in the day, after a homeowners’  association official (aka water police) witnessed me lifting my leg over a plant in the front yard, he cited my dad.  You see, we can only water grass and plants two days a week, and my irrigation activity did not occur on one of those two prescribed days.  Dad was furious.  I tried to calm him down by quietly explaining about California water rights, restrictions, etc.  You can probably guess how that went.

Now, I’m in my dog house, staring out at a waterless yard and thinking about my joyless dad.  I guess there are many kinds of droughts.

3 thoughts on “Don’t Pout About Drought

  1. Talk about patience! Flap, you are to be commended in your dogged adherence to the “rightness” of your actions. Glad you were able to redirect your Dad’s attention to the water dish, thereby shortening his lecture and giving him something useful to do. He must try your patience every minute! Later, Flap. Your friend, Geo

Reply here. I'll try to fit you into my busy reading schedule.

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