Foley's Revenge by River Song

I know Foley has informed all of you that we have started gardening after a winter colder than the wicked witch’s underwear and longer than a James Franco text message to a 15 year old girl with references to a body part which he refers to as the Great and Powerful Oz.  I am just going to come right out and say it:  That dude freaks me out.

Anyway, back to the garden.  My Mommy has a bad neck which is connected to her bad back which is connected to her bad spine which is connected to her bad hip which is connected to her bad legs which is connected to her had knee which lead to her bad feet.  The woman is bad.

Foley has given us strict orders not to let Mommy overwork.   But on Monday the weather was cool, and the work was progressing without incident.  Pocket and I were chilling in the stroller, watching the pruned people walk by, the birds flying overhead, insects happily buzzing.

We went past the two hour mark.  Daddy, who is also on strict orders from Foley decided, on his own , that Mommy could work for at least another hour.  Mommy hates to get out of the garden more than an acid freak at Woodstock so she was happy to stay.  All of us forgot Foley and what would surely be her revenge.

Finally Daddy told Mommy it was time to stop.  She turned and looked at him like a dog who had just spent an hour chasing a rabbit, had finally caught it, and while exhausted, had saved the energy to devour it, and was now being told to come in.  But like all good parents Daddy insisted Mommy was tired, needed to come in, and, if she didn’t, would, like the dog with a rabbit, spend the rest of the day on the toilet.

None of us had considered how much we had angered Foley until it was time for us to get out  of our stroller.  Daddy took a hold of the zipper and pulled but nothing happened.  Both Pocket and I were barking loudly wanting to get out to run free and finally pee.  Daddy worked on the zipper but it wouldn’t budge.  Foley had frozen it trapping us in the stroller as punishment.

As Pocket and I were panicking, picturing a life stuck living in a buggy but Daddy used his almost human like strength to rip the zipper and we were free.  But the buggy was busted, having taken the brunt of Foleys wrath over us overworking Mommy.

Mommy ordered us a new buggy (actually three new buggies. Mommy got into a little keystroke problem with Amazon and we ended up with three spacious pink buggies, but she was able to return them.)  When gardening day we went out and enjoyed the new room and the bluetooth capabilities of the new buggy.

We completely forgot how long we were out there for.  Suddenly, for no reason, our new buggy tipped over and we could hear the faint sound of Foley chuckling.  We knew then it was time to go in.  

Luckily we learned some lessons from the experience.

Check your shopping cart before you pay.

Don’t let Mommy work too long in the garden.

And don’t mess with Foley.