Here in Missouri, I've got The Yard. In which I work. In which I sweat, stink and ruin my nails.
The Yard doesn't care. It lies around, doing whatever it pleases. Gobbling the food I put on its table, guzzling a big gulp, refusing to clean up its room.
(Mindful of my resentment) I'd like to ship The Yard to Cheryl. Maybe it will sprout some cooperation, if she teaches it to meditate.