Have you ever stood in your garden, beseeching your plants to grow? Have you thrown your arms into the air and leaped skyward to demonstrate how their green shoots should burst from the soil?

       No? Well then you probably haven’t seen “My Neighbor Totoro,” the 1988 animated movie by Hayao Miyazaki. It is a delightfully weird film, with dust sprites and forest creatures and something called a Cat Bus. (Exactly what it sounds like.)

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       One of my favorite scenes is when two young sisters, Satsuki and Mei — who have moved to a rural part of Japan with their father while their mother is in the hospital — try to cajole some newly planted seeds into germinating. They dance around their garden plot, exhorting the seeds to sprout.

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       That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing for the last couple of weeks: trying to hurry spring along. After a winter of brown and gray, I’m eager to see some green.

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       I am not a natural gardener. Two critical impediments keep me from horticultural glory: I don’t like getting my hands dirty and I’m not patient. But I like looking at plants. And the only way you can look at plants is to plant them — I mean, unless you look at plants other people have planted.

       This year, we’ll be doing both. This is the first spring of our new landscaping project. Last year, a landscaper pulled most of our grass, then replaced it with native shrubs, trees and perennials, along with a water feature. Just before the first freeze, I planted dozens of daffodil bulbs in a mad afternoon of hole-digging and (ugh) hand-dirtying.

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       I still await my profusion of yellow.

       Our yard is shady, which explains why our daffodils have been uncharacteristically shy, more “bashfullus” than narcissus. For the last week, only a single blossom has deigned to grace us with its presence. Elsewhere in the yard, it’s only the promise of flowers yet to come, just waxy green shoots.

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       Some of these bundles of leaves surround a stem, its tip pregnant with the blossom within. Every morning, My Lovely Wife and I walk carefully around the yard, checking their progress and trying not to step anywhere a fetal flower might be growing, unseen. We imagine the glorious effect when all the daffodils are nodding in the sun, bright as chrome yellow yield signs.

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       First, they’ll have to survive the dog. Archie is big — 80 pounds. He loves to chase a tennis ball around the backyard. He cares more about getting that ball than avoiding those plants. We’re careful where we toss it, lest he wipe out all our work.

       On a warm afternoon last week, I let Archie out into the backyard. He trundled toward that lone daffodil, that floral pioneer, that brave point man in what we hope is an invasion of flowers.

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       “Archie!” I shouted, certain he was going to crush the blossom under his big, dumb Labrador retriever feet. But instead he plopped down right beside it and wriggled his body into the mulch.

       Of course, I thought, he’s drawn to the same thing as that flower. They both love the warmth of the sun.

       Focusing on squirrels

       Squirrel Week — my 12th annual! — is rapidly approaching. And that means it’s time to enter The Washington Post Squirrel Week Squirrel Photography Contest.

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       I’m always impressed by the entries, which manage to capture the myriad personalities of these furry creatures. Yes, one of those personalities is “cute,” but that’s not the only one. Squirrels are resourceful, humorous, scary, quizzical, territorial and skittish.

       I hope the photos that readers submit reveal the squirrel within. Or the chipmunk. Or the groundhog. Don’t forget, there are more than 270 different species of squirrel, so it shouldn’t be hard for you to find one.

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       The entry deadline is April 4. For the complete rules, and instructions on how to enter, visit wapo.st/squirrelphotorules, but in a nutshell, each image should be no larger than 5MB and sent as a JPEG attachment to squirrelphotos@washpost.com. Please put “Squirrel Photo” in the subject line. And include your name and contact details.

       I’ll feature my favorite images during Squirrel Week. The winning photographer will receive a $100 gift card.