It's not all that often when I wake up in the morning, walk outside and try to remember if I took quaaludes very recently. Those are special mornings. Like, take Monday. Walking Miss Bella Sue around the castle, as we normally do 364 days of the year (Don does it the other day), I saw a groundskeeper mowing the lawn. Normal activity; check. Except that THERE WERE FLAMES SHOOTING OUT OF THE FRONT OF THE MOWER AND HE SEEMED ENTIRELY OKAY WITH THAT. Also, the lawnmower was not on the lawn itself, per se -- it was on a gravel trail. Did I mention the mass of orange flames covering the pathway? I think I stood there for several minutes until Mr. Satan Greenjeans waved at me and gave me a hearty smile. Then I felt so embarrassed at my quick jump to judgment. Why NOT torch your gravel walkway if it helps things? I waved back and looked to Bella for the answer. She shook her head in puzzlement, shrugged and sniffed some pee.
It's been almost a week and I STILL cannot quite get my head around this one.
(NB: I have seen said groundskeeper waving a blowtorch over a rock wall to, I presume, burn off little teensy weeds who dare take up residence in the cracks. And that's all I got, folks.)