I live next door to this wonderful old man, he's in his 80's and before moving into town lived on a farm his whole life. He's very smart, very active and is not used to living in town yet (he still owns his tracor, it sits in the backyard)
Henry hates dandelions, hates them. If there's a dandelion within 50 feet of his yard you can consider that poor weed flower as good as dead. It's Henry's duty, no, his delight to destroy all of said yellow plants.
One morning last summer I walked out of my house, when I turned around to walk towards my car I saw a man in my front yard swinging a sickle. I jumped, my heart momentarily stopping, thinking that for sure the apocolypse was taking place and my head was about to be disconnected from my body. The sickle came down, I cringed...
Henry killed that dandelion in my front yard good.
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