I seem to have an affinity lately for tacky metal yard art. It began perhaps three years ago when a friend gave me a purple metal pig. We hung it over the deck and called it The Flying Pig. I never thought of a whole flock of animals, but a year ago on my birthday my oldest son and his wife gave me an adorable and colorful Chihuahua, suitably dressed.
A wise old owl followed, then a pink flamingo, and for Christmas a colorful peacock with his tail fanned out. When we finish the cottage they will all go out around the patio. I remember when my oldest daughter threatened something awful if I put a flamingo in the back yard—not to worry, the life-sized one is in the back, but there is a one-dimensional one in the front yard. Its pink needs revitalizing.
Recently I was in Tomball, from whence came all these treasures, and I needed birthday presents for two dear and close friends, one a lifelong cat lover. Since I’m immobile I sent my daughter-in-law, Lisa, out on the hunt. She scoured several sites but could not find a cat, and we finally settled on a bright yellow chicken. The second gift I needed was for a dog lover, soi got a Dachshund.
Today we had a birthday lunch, and I presented by offerings by setting them at each place at the table. Mind you, I was a little hesitant about this—these are not casual ladies but they seemed pleased with them. The dachshund is not inappropriately named Fritz and will go on a sun porch. Not so sure about the chicken—one of Betty’s daughters already thinks her backyard looks like a Turkish flea market—and this will do little to correct that impression.
I’m fascinated by these critters but I realize there is too much of a good thing. I’m swearing off.