It’s not an even trade. I’m sure you meant well, leaving something behind for me when you nibbled on my garlic scapes, but it wasn’t enough. The little token you left in the basket isn’t edible. I can’t plant it. It’s not even picturesque, but I took a picture anyway.
So hear me now, loud and clear. You, small furry creature, I’m talking to you.
Get out of my garlic, punk.