My love for this magical device is so great that it's name is only whispered in my home.
I have adored many things in my life--the couch, an open refrigerator, a live mouse I once carried inside. . .but nothing, and I mean, NOTHING, draws me in like my beloved sprinkler. Just look at us! Sometimes you just know, you know?
It will not surprise you to learn that my intern tried to tear us apart.
Picture it! A summer's evening not long ago. The temperature had eased, and it seemed like a good time to water the plants. "I'll turn on the sprinkler," commented my intern.
Having heard "sprinkler," I popped right up and followed her outside. I escorted her to the tap on the side of the house, to ensure she turned it on correctly, and then dashed into the yard, eager to be reunited with my beloved sprinkler.
And then, horror.
MY sprinkler had been replaced with something the intern had named "more efficient."
She should've named it "ultra-boring," because that described this new sprinkler to perfection. There was no whizzing around the yard endlessly, no getting blasted in the face when I tried to get a drink. . .nothing. Just. . .watering the garden.
It was a dark day, my friends. I had to get my sprinkler back. And only one thing would do: Activate Full Pest Mode. All I had to do was wait for my moment.
My moment arrived a few days later, when I overheard the intern say, "The weather's good all day. Let's paint the deck."
I waited until they were ready to work. And then I made my opening move--I snatched the paint brush off the porch and ran off with it. Unfortunately, I took it to my main hiding spot, so they retrieved it rather quickly. And then they PUT ME IN THE HOUSE. I had anticipated this eventuality, so I was ready. I parked near the door. I whined. And whined. And then I whined some more. The intern opened the door just a crack. She was going to give me a "Shush!" But I was ready, friends. I barreled through the crack in the door, straight back to the deck. I put a single paw on the step.
"Don't even think about it!" shouted the intern.
I put a second paw on the step.
An exasperated sigh rose from the intern. "I'm going to go put her sprinkler on, and keep her out of the way," she said.
I regret nothing.