There are Dutch iris and liatris (a sort of pink spiky stuff) on Goonie's bed now, planted at deep dusk. It was the only time I could do it without thinking too much about him. In spring, God willing, his spot will be an explosion of flowers. Did you ever read the kid's book about Ferdinand the Spanish bull, who used to sit in the middle of the square and sniiiifffff the flowers? Goon was like that -- the only dog I've ever known who made an effort to smell the flowers in my garden beds.
I want to add some daisies, eventually...but not yet. I'm not ready to laugh about this yet. Goon was one of the few dogs I've ever known who seemed to have a sense of humor. He would enjoy the joke of having daisies on his grave. (Think about it. You'll get it, too.)
Back to work, trudging through. Hopefully it isn't as hot in your neck of the woods -- that heat that flattens you down, gasping for a good breath of fresh air, or iced tea, beading in the glass, a sprig of mint thrown in. We had a huge thunderstorm in late evening, which the dogs hated -- but gave us blessed relief.