Paco Gets a Haircut...

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Two years I've been growing this Purple Clover, and Paco finally gave up.

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He turned to me and said, "Seriously, the cats keep eating me and my leaves are so big I can no longer hold them up! I think it's in our best interest to cut my hair and save the cats their digestive discomfort."

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I touched my finger to my chinny chin chin and thought for a moment. "But, Paco, what if your hair doesn't grow back? You came from my grandmother who brought you all the way from Switzerland. You're not an average clover, you're Swiss!"

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Paco laughed, his accent really coming out now. "Aft! I am strong! I survived a ten hour flight and a few hour layover in Heathrow, in coach none-the-less! If I can survive that, I can survive the haircut!"

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I took out the sharpest sheers I owned, my lips pressed together as I gazed upon the blades. "I promise to cut fast."

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He shook his withering petals. "Danke gleichfalls."

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I held my breath and cut fast, taking his extra hair and saving it in a vase.

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Over the next few days I kept a watchful eye on Paco - he had been silent. Day and night I brought him water, day and night I whispered sweet nothings upon the severed stems, until finally, a single petal emerged and Paco whispered to me...

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"I feel much better now..."

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