Agriculture

A deadly chewed rhubarb leaf Photo by Mark Scherzer "It's just like Checkov's gun!" Steve practically hooted into the telephone. As if my call was all about the plot of some comedic play, and not serious business. It was not exactly the reaction I expected after I called him to say I was afraid I might have killed Doodle, the sweet lamb who was rejected by his mother at birth while Steve was minding the farm last July, and has bonded with us human caregivers, Steve in particular, ever since. To be fair, Steve didn't hoot derisively until he had figured out, through an extended discussion of the circumstances, that Doodle's demise was highly unlikely. I had told him that I had been doing chores Tuesday evening and was transferring a cartload of compost to the vegetable garden with Doodle in my company, as is typically the case when I'm near the barn. I wanted to dump some nourishment on a planting bed I was preparing near the rhubarb patch. And before I knew it, I saw out of the corner of my eye Doodle