It started with a butterfly.
One lazy afternoon, the sun poured golden warmth across our backyard. I sprawled under the apple tree, my nose twitching with every passing breeze that brought hints of dandelions, old leaves, and something new—something sweet and fluttery. A butterfly.
It danced above the tulips, teasing me with its wings. I couldn’t resist. With a little hop, I chased it, not to catch, just to follow. That’s when I noticed the intruders.
Two squirrels.
They were on the far end of the garden, boldly digging where Mom had planted her strawberries. I froze. This was serious. Those berries were her pride, and I’d seen how carefully she covered them with netting.
I puffed up, lowering my head like I’d seen the Border Collies do on YouTube once. Quietly—stealthily—I crept forward.
But squirrels? They’re clever little beasts. The moment I growled, they darted up the tree, chattering insults at me.
Tail high, I stood guard beneath their tree. “Not in my garden,” I barked, not caring who heard.
Mom poked her head out of the kitchen door. “Bailey? Everything okay out there?”
I trotted to her, wagging proudly, and led her to the squirrel’s crime scene. Her eyes widened. “Oh no! My strawberries!”
I looked at her with my best I tried face.
She knelt beside me, laughing and ruffling my ears. “You’re my little garden guardian, huh?”
From that day forward, I took my role seriously. Birds trying to peck the seeds? Gone. Cats wandering in? Not on my watch. I even stood in front of the hose once to stop it from flooding the petunias. (Okay, that one backfired, and I ended up soaked.)
She bought me a little garden cooling mat to lie on while I did my patrols, and I have to say—it’s one of my favorite spots now. Cool, soft, and perfectly positioned under the tree where butterflies dance.
The garden? It’s safe now. I made sure of that.
And the strawberries? Well… I might’ve helped myself to one. Just to test it, of course.
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