The Bougainvillea died today. A moment of silence was observed throughout the flower community -- another hapless victim courtesy of the gopher.

Not to say that the owner didn't do everything in their power to save the plants. She erected cages around most of the vulnerable plants and even went so far as to fasten a top to each and every cage. This really pissed the gopher off and he took to tunneling around the cages, causing the soil to erode away from the plant. He never gets to eat the plant, but knowing he's had a part in the destruction gives him the satisfaction of a job well done. The very least you could say about this gopher is that he won't be a botanist when he grows up.

The English Roses were quite shocked in the beginning, but lately seemed to have developed aloofness towards the situation as if to say, "Yes yes, I see. Is that the best you can do?"

Verbena was mildly thriving and rather sullen over not being offered a cage. He particularly hated the Begonias, all twelve of them, smug bastards who often received the most loving care. They always looked smashing; whilst he was lucky to get a drink of water now and then.

Now take the Geraniums, really great guys, never complained. The fact that they too always looked pristine never bothered the Verbena. This was probably because they would thrive anywhere and would be just as happy if they were hung up by their roots and drowned in a bucket of water, to which they would reply/or glub, "Well it's really nice weather we're having."

The Alyssum was another matter. Once Verbena had a whole flowerbed to himself, but in just a year, Alyssum invited itself in and is now crowding out Verbena. Alyssum is immature, talkative and if you turned your back, would choke you out. An amazingly stupid plant, it would wonder what happened to the nice Verbena that was here the other day. Many referred to it as "The Good Looking Weed." In fact The Flower Council refuses to acknowledge Alyssum as a flower, and has banned it from all council meetings -- or at least it would if there wasn't some in everyone's pot.

The 346th weekly meeting of The Flower Council Chapter 79 was about to take place. Everyone scooted and gathered around the monstrous Hydrangea.

The Clematis pushed its way to the front. "I'd like to address the committee."  

The Boston Fern sidled up to his usual spot, perched above the Hydrangea. "We haven't taken roll call yet," he said tersely.

"Yes I know," the Clematis replied impatiently, "but look at me!"

Indeed, Clematis was a sight. All his leaves were covered in holes; the other leaves who had not been so fortunate were severed completely.

"The Pansies have the same problem!"

Clematis gestured behind him. Frail and hole ridden flowers peeked out from behind the pot.

"We've tried," Clematis explained, "to attain several restraining orders to no avail. Japanese Beetles completely disregard bureaucracy and the legal system."  

"Yes, said Boston Fern looking away in disgust, "we'll move your agenda to the top of the list." He paused. "After roll call!" He said this with great authority and looked very pleased with himself.  

The Clematis backed a few steps away to join The Jasmine.

Boston Fern returned to his original position, which is being a jerk. He began roll call.

"All right, settle down everyone. Astilbe?"

"Here," chimed the red fiery stalks of feather-like flowers from the back row.

"Anemones?"

A low, muffled rumble came from the Astilbe pot.

Boston Fern crossed something off his notepad. "Ah yes, recently planted and still underground. Begonias?"

"All present," cried the singy-song voice of the most prolific Begonia.

"Hey," cried the Alyssum, "you forgot us again."

"Shutup! Bougainvillea?"

"He's still presumed dead," added the Verbena.

Boston Fern tapped his notepad. "Do I have a confirmation on that? Who else is near The Bougainvillea?"

The Gladiolus snickered. "The Alyssum."

"Oh God, never mind. Right," Boston Fern continued, "Calla Lilles?"

"Here"

"Clematis?"

"Yes and--"

The Boston Fern cut him off. "Day Lilies?"

Crouched underneath the Gladiolus, The Day Lilies lay -- laden with silken petals in a brilliant sun-kissed orange. They raised a leaf or two in acknowledgment.

The Boston Fern would have given them a stern lecture about vanity if he'd not been so struck by their beauty. He moved on.

"Fuchsias?"

"Psst," whispered one of the Begonias whose usual position was next to the Fuchsia, "She's still in shock -- hasn't said a word since her unfortunate accident with the faulty plant hook."

Boston Fern peered in the direction of the Fuchsia and noticed it was looking rather droopy. "Oh yes, I see. Well, maybe she'll perk up."

"Gladiolus?"

"All ten dozen of us."

"Geraniums?"

"We're all here," came a cheerful voice from the clan of Geraniums over to the side. They waved to the others, sounded off a few catcalls and jabbed each other good-naturedly.

The Boston Fern nodded approvingly. He always found the Geraniums to be most pleasant and wished there were more of them. If everyone were as easy going as the Geraniums, it would make his job much easier.

"Heather?"

The Heather rustled from in amongst the Annual Begonias.

"Hydrangea? I say, has anyone seen the Hydrangea?"

The Hydrangea snorted and wished the Boston Fern would get on with it. He did this every time even though the Boston Fern practically sat on top of him. The Hydrangea wished he'd never appointed him as vice-president.

"Yes," hissed The Hydrangea, "I am here."

"Jasmine?"

"Over here," came a cry from a support beam of the patio.

The Boston Fern had difficulty concealing his awe. "My," he breathed, "you're certainly looking vigorous."

In so far, as much as a Jasmine plant could blush, it did so and thanked him for the compliment.

"The Verbena?"

"Present."

"And the coleus, impatients, pansies and petunias?"

The Boston Fern always addressed Annuals as a whole instead of individuals. He regarded them as nothing more than disposable plants.

The Annuals were quite used to this sort of abuse and said that they were indeed present instead of resorting to snide remarks. They would save those for when Boston Fern wasn't in earshot.

"Now that everyone's accounted for, I believe it's time we start--"

"That'll be all Boston Fern," Hydrangea interrupted.

"Well it looks as though Clematis is priority on the agenda. Anyone here have any suggestions?"

A murmur rippled through the flowers.

"We could set a trap," ventured The Astilbe.

The Hydrangea nodded. "Good, good. Now how would we go about doing this?"

"Well," the Astilbe faltered, he wasn't ready to give a detailed account of the plan, "we could lure The Japanese Beetle in with some sort of bait."

"And what sort of bait were you thinking of?"

The Astilbe shrugged. "Well The Japanese Beetle seems quite fond of Clematis."

"Hey!" cried The Clematis.

"All right, all right. Any other suggestions?" The Hydrangea questioned.

The Verbena decided to share his view. "I think if we all knew how to take care of ourselves, we probably wouldn't need these useless committee meetings."

"Point taken."