“Look!” My mother shouted to me from where she knelt in front of her garden. “One of them made it!”
In her hands, she had the tiniest purple flower I had ever seen. Holding it out to me as though this pathetic little plant contained the answer to the very meaning of life, she looked at me expectantly and waited for me to understand the obvious importance of what was happening at this moment.
With a sigh and a dramatic eyeroll that even I, the master of sass and sarcasm, envied she got up from where she was kneeling and shoved the flower directly at my face.
“Your dog,” she said, emphasizing each word with a flick of her wrist, “ate the rest of them. But not this one.”
At this point, with the way she cradled the flower much like Gollum had his precious ring, it seemed that perhaps she valued its life even more than mine.
Yet, as I crossed my eyes to see it better, even I couldn’t deny the enormity of this event. My dog was a killing machine. Mercilessly tearing up plants the moment they touched dirt.
None the less, my mother valiantly marched on and protected her garden against his malicious deeds.
And, in an attempt to repay her for her kindness, it offered from it’s soily depths one purple flower the size of my thumbnail.
Yes, I could see it now. Despite the fact that my eyes were completely angled inwards, it was clear to me now:
even when there was something tearing up your progress five times faster than you were making it, there would always be pay off. As long as you kept going, there would always be success in the end.
That is, unless you are a gardener trying to defend a tiny purple flower against a giant dog.
In that case, the above mentioned dog will hear you as you happily show off your flower and come enthusiastically galloping to you from some unknown location.
And, then, proceed to eat said flower in one fatal chomp.
Needless to say, his enthusiasm was not appreciated.