Another form of fertilizer

I may have bored you senseless with my inability to grow grass in my garden (and no, that isn't a metaphor for male pattern baldness). However, now you mention it, there are major bald patches on my back lawn, which was to have been turned into a mini-Wembley Stadium for Ottawacker Jr.'s goalkeeping lessons. 

I've long suspected the robins, who seem to come en masse from their nests two doors down - as if they have been trained to do so - and the squirrels, who delight on burying their nuts in whatever fertile ground they find (and again, that isn't a metaphor, and how old are you?)

It turns out that the visiting hare/rabbit - the harebit or rabber - and the groundhog have been taking it in turns to use a certain area of the grass as, how shall I put it, their latrine. They cover up after themselves quite impressively, but leave a great deal of evidence behind. 

I've already forewarned Ottawacker Jr. about the delay in goalkeeping - and the fact that we might have to venture out into the wide world to do some training in the park. He looked at me like I were an idiot. I am beginning to get used to that look.