The Garden

My puppy killed it. It ran through and tore up years of effort in mere minutes. Honestly, if I were to reflect objectively on the matter, the amount of damage was impressive. I couldn't have done a better job if I had salted the earth. Gardens have a tough time growing in salted soil.
In all seriousness, I was angry; furious to a degree I didn't know was in me. When my puppy looked at me with those wide innocent eyes, I felt my blood boil. It is true that I should not have let my little dog roam free, that I am at fault on some level. Although, knowing the destruction could have been indirectly caused by my hand only worsened my mood.
I believe it is challenging for many to imagine just how important my garden was to me. It bore fruit that only existed because I nurtured each plant from seed to maturity. For me, the garden was a year-round project. In the Spring I would plant new seeds, and eagerly fertilize and water them. Summer was a time for me to harvest the fruits of my labor. By the time Fall drifted in, the plants were given a protective layering for the coming cold. Frost and snow did not deter me from venturing out daily on a journey to keep the plants warm.
But now... now it is Spring yet again and I have nothing to look forward to for Summer. My puppy took from me an irreplaceable joy. A garden will never grow on that soil again. That is why I killed my puppy.