BiscuitWatch 3: Free Biscuit

When we last saw Biscuit, she was happily grazing in the lush pastures of the empty lot behind the house. Little did she know, that was a rare event, and now it seems the memory haunts her because she's been spending her afternoons standing by the fence, gazing wistfully at what she cannot have:

The neighbour who looks after the lot is a very nice bloke but he suffers from an affliction common to men in suburbia and regional centres – he loves to mow. It's quite clear that he considers it a pleasure rather than a chore. He mows this particular block far more often than is necessary – especially considering there are four horses next door desperate to come in for a good grass-binge – but it seems he can't help himself.
He doesn't use some fancy ride-on affair, mind you. He pushes his old deafening, fume-belching machine, starting at a corner and making his way in an anti-clockwise direction to the jacaranda tree in the middle. Very slow and methodical.
And with poor little Biscuit watching on.

I've entertained notions of rescuing her from of her dirt-pit and setting her free to roam and chew to her heart's content, but there's a big padlock on the gate. Besides, there's hardly any grass anyway now that it's just been shorn. Still, whenever Biscuit looks at me, I can't help but sense reproach in her eyes, as if I'm part of some conspiracy to deny her a treat:

I may be going a little insane, but I gave her a mini-donut this morning as a goodwill gesture.
She seemed to take it well.