Tric Kearney: 'We were the owners of the brightest yellow lawnmower. I suspect when mowing he could be seen from outer space'

You've got to love summer, waking each morning hoping it won’t rain, free from the slavery of homework and after-school activities, writes Tric Kearney.

It’s the time of year at one with my nature — lazy.

“Sorry, it’s too nice for a big dinner this evening, we’ll just have salad.”

“Excuse the mess in the house, it would be a sin to stay indoors doing housework.”

I’m not a complete waste of space, I’d like to imagine, as I do love to garden.

However, that does not include mowing the lawn. In truth, I barely notice if there’s clover or a few daisies about or it’s overdue a cut. But yer man does. He’s a big fan of the lawnmower. Talk about not letting the grass grow under your feet.

In our previous house, we’d a small garden and a small lawn mower. It only took five years of hard labour for us to accept that it was of little use when we moved house. When we finally did yer man skipped off in search of a ‘real’ lawnmower.

For a while he became an expert on mulchers and horsepower, taking this big purchase very seriously. At last he found ‘the one,’ and arrived home, financially lighter, with a giant, shiny new, canary yellow lawnmower. Yes, we were the owners of the brightest lawnmower you can imagine. I suspect when mowing he could be seen from outer space.

So pleased were we both with his new toy that upon finishing the grass I too would go out to delight at how perfectly the grass was cut and marvel at how it hadn’t taken half the day.

One morning, no more than a few weeks after its arrival, yer man was leaving for work. Perfect wife that I am, I was at the front door to wave him off. He began to reverse but stopped suddenly. Jumping out of the car, leaving his door wide open he raced at speed around the side of the house.

I followed him, only for us to crash head-on at the corner.

“It’s gone!” he said.

“What’s gone?”

"The new lawnmower!"

He turned and ran back to the shed as did I, unsure why we were running. Sure enough, there was a big empty space where his pride and joy used to sit. Then he was off again, out onto the road, and once again I ran after him. There we stood looking up and down, yer man probably hoping we’d spot someone running off with it.

Minutes later our daughter arrived home, from the crazy sport that is early morning swimming, naturally curious as to why there was a welcome party in the driveway.

In my best funeral voice, I said, “Dad’s lawnmower’s gone.”

“What?”

“The lawnmower, it’s been robbed. Stolen. Nicked.”

“But I saw it this morning.”

Yer man’s head whipped around. “What? Where?”

“Outside the front gate. On the grass.”

“Why didn’t you take it in,” he spluttered.

“I didn’t think. I just wondered why you’d left it out all night.”

So we’d learned two things, the robbers had struck at 5am and that at least one of our children would never make the guards. Sad to think she was moments away from foiling a robbery and forever being the favourite child.

Over the next few weeks, yer man spent quite some time driving about on fine days checking neighbours lawnmowers, but we never saw it again.

Finally, a few weeks later a black and red replacement arrived.

“I see you decided to go with a different colour,” I said.

“Yes, yellow was too conspicuous. The guards think someone saw me mowing the lawn with it.”

Really? Did they think, that’s a nice mower, no one will ever notice if I rob it?