Rolling With My Gnomie

This is Norman Futch. He is our indoor garden gnome. There he is, chilling by the basil, just between the evergreen and pine cone, chatting up the fairy on the candle holder, happy at last to have a job.
Bill and I found him in a dollar store about six years ago. We were on our way to the grocery store when we spotted him in the window and immediately burst out laughing. Mr. Futch waited very patiently while Bill and I spent a good ten minutes debating whether to call him Norman or Mr. Futch. Finally, we reached an accord, having decided to name him Norman Futch. (To this day Bill calls him Norman, while I, showing respect, continue to address him as Mr. Futch. )
You can only imagine Mr. Futch's chagrin when we brought him home and there was no garden for him to tend. He guarded our TV instead. I felt bad after a couple of years and decided he needed a garden. I brought some seeds, potting soil, and made pots out of old animal cracker containers and tried to start an herb garden in the middle of January. It actually didn't go too bad and might have worked, except every time a little green shoot would appear, we would get super excited, but by the end of the day the shoot would mysteriously disappear and there would always be a kitty with a little dirt goatee and a slightly guilty expression trotting suspiciously in the opposite direction.
Last spring, after a miserable failure growing garlic, I decided to try a different tack and just bought some plants. And there was much rejoicing. (yeeeeea.)
Now Mr. Futch, in his element at last gets to hang out amongst the green and leafy--and still gets to watch TV. Not a bad gig for a gnome, after all, it's hard out here fo' a shrimp.