As the owner of a dog with colitis, I have plenty of time at my end of the leash to contemplate the scenery and think odd thoughts. Outside my mother's house this morning, I was lost in reverie while Oliver tried his best to do his business.
My attention was jerked back to the present when a small, beat-up pickup truck full of gardening equipment, topped by a large orange water cooler, careened around the corner. Before it even stopped, the doors flew open and three men in large straw hats leaped out. Each grabbed a piece of equipment--a mower, an edger, and a weed whacker--and started the engines in the middle of the street. They ran to the neighbor's yard and edged and mowed at full speed. If lawn care was an Olympic event, these guys would win, hands down. Two of them disappeared into the back yard while one remained to water the flowers under the neighbor's window. The two reappeared from the back yard, then I looked down to check on Oliver.
When I looked up, the straw hats, the equipment, and the truck were gone. No more than ten minutes had passed. Did I just witness a new phenomenen--Commando Gardening? Or did I just imagine it? Oliver isn't talking.