After eighteen years, my John Deere lawn tractor is dead. Both back tires are flat and the seat is falling apart. The ignition switch has been bypassed and, despite being hooked to a battery tender constantly, when the toggle switch is pushed to start the engine, the old boy won’t hit a lick at a snake. I am afraid the end is finally here. Meanwhile, the grass keeps growing. I’m used to cutting the front and back yard in about a half-hour without breaking a sweat, but drastic times call for drastic measures. I am seriously considering buying a push mower.
There is nothing wrong with using a push mower. It’s good exercise and I can certainly use more of that. I can at least keep the grass cut and the homeowners association off my back until the Deere manages to become yard worthy again. I had a push mower for ten years. It was a Murray I bought new for eighty-five dollars and used it until the wheels literally fell off. The next day I went out and bought the John Deere.
One particular Friday night in the middle of July, I went to a Braves game and consumed several stadium-quality draft beers. The next day I needed to cut the grass. I wanted to work up a sweat, so I put on a cotton warmup over my t-shirt. I pulled on my cargo shorts and white socks, laced up my sneakers and went out to mow. My American bulldog Sugar went with me. He followed me everywhere, even cutting grass in ninety-plus degree heat and one hundred percent humidity.
Sugar was a Damn Good Dog. The cats slept curled up next to him and rubbed up against him. There was not a mean bone in his body. The one thing he hated was bees. The big bumblebees drove him crazy. They would hover above him and he would stare at them intently before jumping and snapping at them. They would fly up out of reach, then buzz back down to taunt him a second time.
We cut the back yard first, moved to the left side yard and headed for the front. By now I was sweating profusely and the stadium-quality draft beers were a distant memory. Sugar walked slowly and patiently by my side. After we finished the front yard, I crossed the driveway and stopped at the top of the right side yard. My wife Marie walked out of the garage and smiled at me. I wiped my brow with my sleeve, smiled back at her, shook my head and continued mowing.
After two steps I suddenly felt like I was on fire. There was a searing hot flash up the back of my legs and neck. When I had stopped at the top of the driveway, the lawnmower was over the top of a yellow jacket hole. When I moved forward, they swarmed up my back. I let go of the lawnmower and ran down the driveway screaming. Marie came running out of the garage and managed to get the warmup off of me. She threw it on the driveway. The bees were still swarmed on the warmup and stinging it. Sugar charged right into the middle of them, snarling, snapping and biting. Sugar was a Damn Good Dog. Marie grabbed a towel and began slapping at the backs of my legs. Sugar kept snapping and the swarm eventually flew away.
Marie got me into the kitchen and made a paste out of baking soda and water. She put it on my legs and neck. It turned out to be a good thing I was wearing the warmup, because the thick cotton kept the bees from stinging my back. I calmed down slowly, the baking soda paste dried and she gave me two Benadryls. I went into the bathroom, eased out of my clothes and took a cold shower. That was it for the day as far as mowing the lawn.
The pain and the burning eased up as the afternoon went on and by evening was pretty much gone, although the stings were beginning to itch. I walked up to the top of the driveway, retrieved the lawnmower and returned it the garage. I went to the laundry room, took the can of Raid Wasp & Hornet Killer from the cabinet, walked up the driveway and sprayed a steady stream into the hole. I went back into the garage, closed the door behind me and walked in the house. I put the Wasp & Hornet Killer back in the laundry room cabinet, opened up the refrigerator, grabbed a cold Budweiser went out the back door and sat down on the deck.
Sugar came up the stairs to the deck and walked over to me. His right jowl was hanging down low. His left one was swollen too, just not as much as the right. He looked at me as if to ask if I was alright. “Hey, boy, you got a couple of ‘em, didn’t you?” I chuckled. He wagged his stubby tail. I got up, went into the kitchen, broke up a couple of Benadryls, put them in a chunk of cheese and gave it to him. I walked back out and sat down on the deck. Sugar sat down in front of me. I bent over and gave him a big hug. “Thanks for protecting me, buddy,” I said to him. “You’re a Damn Good Dog, you know that?” He licked my face through his swollen jowls and wagged his stubby tail again. He was a Damn Good Dog indeed.