Its Good for the Grass

Its Good for the Grass

 

By Mike Williamson

 
Abruptly sitting upright in my bed from a sound sleep, gripping the blankets. My face contorted in horror and breathing rapidly as if at the end of a run.

“God, I hate that!” I say to no one in particular. Princess, my Chihuahua mix mutt, just turns and looks at me, ears perked up.

These dreams are becoming a nuisance. I wake up suddenly, then I can't remember what the dream was about. It always happens just before my alarm goes off. I don't even get the satisfaction of going back to sleep to see what happens. I'm not sure what shakes me up more, the dreams or that damned alarm.
As soon as the buzzer sounds Princess starts jumping all over me. I can always depend on her to wake me if I sleep through it. That sound is the signal for her morning free time in the yard and she wouldn't miss that for the world.

“Do you want to go outside girl?” I ask her in a high pitched, baby-talk, tone. I rub my eyes as she hops around in anticipation.

“OK, let's go” I walk to the kitchen, grab a cup of coffee, open the sliding glass door and watch her bolt. I step out with her and watch as she runs figure-eight’s around the yard, hopping over obstacles like she did when she was a puppy. Her joy and carefree nature really makes life worth living. Every morning the obstacle course is a little different depending on the night's activities.

With coffee cup in one hand and the garden hose in the other, I go through the usual routine of spraying the blood and chunks of flesh off of the back porch.

“Hey Frank. How many did you get this morning?” Says Bob, my neighbor. “I've got five.”

“I think I gotcha beat this time, Bob, I count six, oh make that seven.” I reply “I hope the body disposal truck is on time today.”

“I know, the last time the guys came late and the bodies started to ripen.” He says. ”That was nasty. I am grateful for the service though. It sure beats taking them to the dump every morning.”

“You got that right. It's good for the grass though. Did you notice that?”

“Yea, but it’s not consistent. You see the shapes of taller grass?” He says pointing to shapes in my yard from previous nights.

“Do you think it would help if I put a sign up saying, ZOMBIES, PLEASE DIE WHERE THE GRASS ISN'T DOING SO WELL. I'm not sure if they can read but it might be worth a try.”

“Go for it Frank” He laughs, “It sure can't hurt”

“I'll give it a shot and let you know, I better get to bagging these things up and get to work. I'll talk to you later.”

“OK, you have a good day and ,hey, don't forget, golf this Saturday.” He says as he puts on his HAZMAT suit.

“Hey!, Princess!. Leave that leg alone. Bad dog!, Get in the house!.” I yell, She stops, looks at me and runs back in the house.

“Stupid dog, she’s always trying to take a souvenir”. I mumble to myself.

She watches intently as I put on my own HAZMAT suit. I make a mental note to pick up some more chemical resistant gloves and body bags after work, I'm running low.

I'm still a little shaken by that dream I had last night. I wish I could remember what it was about. It's going to bug me all day.

“What do you think I should do about those dreams, girl?” I say to the dog, who just looks up at me, tilting her head to one side as if she understands.

“Oh, never mind. You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you girl.” I say to her, again using that annoying baby-talk tone, scratching the top of her head. “Your such a good dog. Yes you are. You're my little Princess...”

END