Sentimental Saturday

Last summer, my husband and I lost our beloved Peeg.

(Notice the carrot stains under his chin. He ate — and pooped — several pounds of carrots a week!)

Jarrod and I live on the sentimental end of the emotional spectrum, so after burying him in our backyard and surrounding him with garden statuary left by the previous homeowners, we decided to plant an old-fashioned bleeding heart above the grave. Unfortunately, it wasn't Dicentra spectabilis season. Our local nursery couldn't help us and neither could any nursery online. I finally located a single store still selling them. We ordered and the plant arrived, bareroot, on our porch a week later. Bareroot, of course, being a common way to ship perennials. Too bad we didn't know what "bareroot" meant — even though the answer was, duh, in the name.

After scanning and rescanning the planting instructions (which assumed we were Master Gardeners working for the Queen of England) and searching and researching the internet for bleeding heart instructions (not realizing that bareroot was bareroot, no matter what the plant), we got tired of waiting and went for it, planting two-thirds of it in the ground and one-third of it above ground. Whoopsie! We realized this was a mistake once the part above ground, you know, died and fell off. I thought for sure we'd killed poor Peeg's plant and that we were terrible, horrible parents who deserved to have their golden retriever taken away from them.

But, like all my favorite stories, this one has a happy ending. Because for the last three weeks, this has been growing in my backyard:

And today, I saw them. Two tiny, bleeding hearts — one for me, one for my husband.

We miss you, Peeg.

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