I had no intention of celebrating World Naked Gardening Day — WNGD, for the unidoctrinated. That’s today, for any of you who missed it. And it’s no unintentional omission that I’m not linking to their official site, for I swear dear blogosphere, it ain’t no Garden of Eden out there. And now I know why Adam and Eve ate the apple. They were just dying for skivvies.

Stunned sensibilities aside, I, as a Cynical Gardener was having nothing to do with this holiday. I mean, I have a hard enough time keeping my hair out of my eyes when I’m pulling weeds the one time per season I do it before I hire someone to do it for me. The last thing, I, or anyone needs, is my opinion, is their private gardener parts flapping in the breeze getting in the way, perhaps, of the shears or looking tasty to the bees.

But on a much smaller scale, plans changed this morning when I was minding my own business at the computer, drinking coffee. Dog #3 prances in all her naked dogness past the kitchen sliding glass door carrying a small lifeless something. Crap. She drops it. She looks at me. Hey ma, look what I got! She was then carrying it around the fenced backyard proud as a rowdy teenager after getting away with something BIG. I kept banging and screaming “DROP IT” as loudly and softly as I could without attracting the attention of the dogs and eleven year old in the house.

This is when no man around the house really pisses me off. There is no way I would tackle this by myself if there was someone else — anyone else — to do it.

I could hardly leave the back door — or who knows what else Dog #3 would find and decide to kill. I got a closer look from behind the safety of double-paned glass. One dead very tiny baby bunny with oozing guts on my conscience was enough, I was going to have to do something. I was glad it wasn’t a mouse, though. Funny what runs through your mind at the oddest of times. I mean a dead mouse would mean mice. A dead bunny means bunnies. Totally different in the world in my head.

So in my lovely and very favorite very old purple floral cotton nightgown (I’m nothing if not stunning in the morning) and the pair of sneakers closest to the kitchen, I go outside yelling at steady intervals to keep the dog AWAY from the dead bunny while making crazy-lady grandious gestures. Shoe box from brand-new-high-holy-day-services black pumps and a plastic trash bag, I sweep dead bunny into box with lid, replace said lid, say a little “I’m sorry bunny” and wrap the whole thing in a plastic bag.

ICK.

Then of course Dog #3 goes crazy sniffing all over the backyard looking for more tasty treats bunnies, which is when I decided that she needed to go inside so that I, in my purple nightgown and sneaker glory, could walk every inch of the yard looking for more dead woodland creatures bunnies.

I saw nothing - but the neighbors? If they were looking - they saw and heard plenty. I can only hope they think that I’m a just little modest in my pursuit of being a Naked Gardener - and forget about the whole thing.