Gone Fishin' By David Clinton Matz      It was my third year of trying to create the perfect lawn.      I was doing quite well this summer.  I'd reseeded the bare spots from winter's ravages.  I'd found just the right grass seed for our soil conditions.  I'd created a sprinkler system that worked well for both the lawn and for entertaining my four children.      All was going well, until one day I noticed several sprouting dandelions.  No problem, I thought.  I hurried to the store and bought an herbicide.  I figured that by the next weekend, I'd have those yellow devils whipped.      But when I got home, I took a closer look at the instructions.  Reading the cautionary statements made me shudder; we live in a rural area with a nearby pond and have cats and dogs and children.  I didn't want to inflict toxic chemicals on any of them.  So I made the mixture weaker than the directions called for. Weak and ineffective: By the next weekend, those tough little dandelions didn't have so much as a withered leaf.      I had promised my four-year-old daughter Kayla we'd go fishing on Saturday.  Kayla loves to fish and is very good at it.  But when Saturday arrived, I found the little yellow splotches in my lawn had multiplied.      I'll have to deal with the dandelions before we go fishing, I told myself.  The lawn is less than half an acre; how long can it take?      With screwdriver and garbage sack in hand, I attacked the pesky weeds.      "Pickin' flowers, Daddy?" Kayla asked.      "Yes, dear," I said, digging furiously at a tough root.      "I'll help," she offered.  "I'll give some to Mommy."      "Go ahead, sweetie," I answered.  "There's plenty."      An hour passed, and yellow splotches still remained.      "You said we's going fishin' today," Kayla complained.      "Yes, I know, dear," I said.  "Just a little more flower picking, okay?"      "I'll get the fish poles," Kayla announced.      I labored on, prying up one stubborn root after another.      "I found some worms under a rock, Daddy," Kayla piped up.  "I put them in a cup.  Are you ready?"      "Almost, honey."      More minutes dragged by.      "You picked 'nough flowers, Daddy," Kayla insisted impatiently.      "Okay, honey, just a few more," I promised.  But I couldn't stop.  The compulsion to finish the job was overwhelming.      A few minutes later, a tap came on my shoulder.      "Make a wish, Daddy!" Kayla chirped.      As I turned, Kayla took a big breath, puffed, and sent a thousand baby dandelion seeds into the air.      I picked her up and kissed her, and we headed for the fish pond. Reprinted by permission of David Clinton Matz (c) 1999 from Chicken Soup for the Gardener's Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Cynthia Brian, Cindy Buck, Marion Owen, Pat Stone and Carol Sturgulewski.  In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent.  All rights reserved.