The gardens of the Shire and the environs thereof are awash in the coming beauties of autumn and the sinking sunlight of shorter days and longer nights. Frodo finds some new joy almost everyday. However, there is a problem, Houston.
There are little green sticky-to-its which seem to afflict the Hobbits, including the canine contingent. These invisible monsters mate with every sock or plumed tail which presents itself anywhere adjacent to the presence of chlorophyll. When the opportunity finally presents itself to physically remove each one of these refugees from an old icebox, the process is marred by the casual discovery of yet another gathering of the sexually-transmitted diseased. The little bastards are everywhere, and they seem to offer evidence to the existence of climate change, due to the apparent increase in their presence. Why else would a mindful supreme presence continue to manufacture these little turds?
Frodo loves a walk in the woods, but he has grown fearful of the threat encompassing his pulmonary passages and the potential risk of a headlong fall down a mountain trail while bending to remove a sticky-to-it. Dandy, successor to Mick, the Wonder Dog, plants his front paws in the sand and refuses to enter the paths of green which tempt him whenever the plague subsides. Until such time, nature will remain a darkening temptress, and the persistent little sexual transmitters wait for even a passing deer or bear to fall victim.
Hmm, Frodo wonders what would result should he place 25 or so amid the bird feeders currently deluged by squirrels? Possibly they'd eat them, then again, they probably wouldn't.