Daisies

"It were the daisies," Gladys said, gesturing to the east bed (where some of the seedlings had been torn out of the ground / murdered). "They've gone." Emil nodded. "Had me irises go coupla summers back. Got so bad I didn't dare water the rest. Vindictive sods, irises." "Cover 'em," Imogene added, handing Gladys one of her garden sheets (100% cotton and a lovely sage green). "They'll not see and they'll not know to act 'til they've accepted their place in the garden and get over themselves. You put 'em on notice; they'll come 'round or it's nothing but tenting and indirect sun." A bit later, after some tea to settle her nerves, Gladys went back out into the garden and spoke her mind. "You'd no right," she said, "and I'm powerful disappointed in ya. Self-fulfilling prophecy, your behavior; I haven't liked any other flower more than ya 'til now. You see to yourselves and be quick about it, or I'll switch off the underground sprinklers." She applied the sheet, and it wasn't lost on the daisies that it was a foreign bit of cloth (it didn't smell like home); it gave them pause that more than one gardener was against them. "Set yourselves to rights, you weeds; I'll compost ya," Gladys added for good measure (hoping that she wasn't too threatening). She eyed the rest of the flowers suspiciously; how many of them would turn on ya if they could work the water spigot themselves?