I've just spent four hours burying the cat...

Four hours burying the cat?

Yeah, she wouldn't stay still.

Apologies to Monty Python for ripping off one of their sketches, but I've been digging holes.

We planted a couple of Grevillias recently at the bottom of the garden. That part of the yard doesn't drain too well and Grevillias don't like damp soil, so they haven't been doing too well. This morning I went downstairs with a shovel (actually the shovel was already downstairs, but you know what I mean) and I dug a couple of holes to relocate the the plants to give them a better chance of survival.

The first hole was near our herb harden (it only has rosemary and lemon grass in it, the other herbs died about two years ago). The second hole was underneath a navel orange tree (calling it a tree is being very kind). This navel orange... plant, has been in about three different locations in the yard and has made no effort whatsoever to do what orange trees are supposed to do, give oranges. It's flowered a couple of times and the flowers have turned into fruit. I've had bigger pimples than the oranges that grew on this, cough, cough, tree. Then they fell off.

So, the navel orange plant got dug up and in its place I put a Grevillea that wasn't doing too well.

Then I went over to the first hole I'd dug near the herb garden.

The hole, when I first dug it was about a foot deep and about 18 inches across. When I went to check it out, it wasn't there anymore. The bloody chooks had gone and filled it in again. I'm sure Xena the fat beagle had encouraged them. When I first broke the ground so to speak, Xena went and stood in the hole, such as it was. She then pretended she didn't know I was digging there. Even when I dumped a shovel load of dirt on her head she pretended not to notice.

You can't get good help these days.