Lockdown

We can’t go out so what to do? How do we spend our time? Imagination, racing thoughts My brain on overtime. There’s gardening, painting, DIY Non urgent jobs to do, They’re boring and predictable, I need stimulus, tried and true. That lazy dog could do a bit, He snores his life away Maybe I could combine some things And make him earn his pay. The veg patch is so overgrown, With weeds and grass and such, It needs a plough to turn it all, To dig is far too much. I contemplate the problem, Ideas are coming fast, My engineering side comes forth To help me in this task. A rotary lawnmower With motor burnt right out, I’ll take off all the spinning bits And modify throughout. A blade made from a shovel, That I found lying around, I built a wooden structure And fixed it facing down. A harness formed by ropes, Tied to doggies walking brace Then fixed back to the plough Would keep the mutt in place. I could steer it by the handles While the dog was harnessed in Then turn the garden over, Job done, that’s it, we’re in. I put the dog’s brace on him And he thought his luck was in. It must be walkies he seemed to say As he looked at me and grinned. I led him to my work of art, And he sniffed at it a bit, Then he looked at me and shook his head, Raised a leg and peed on it. I tied the ropes to his dog brace And I told him what to do, But he sat down in front of it, His labour he withdrew. I cut a long and whippy stick, And urged him to get on, And when I smacked him on the back, I thought my end had come. He shot off like racing hound, Yelping all the way, The plough was going sideways, Gouging on its way. He headed for the rose bushes, The wife’s most treasured bit, Then smashed them down to matchsticks In a horrendous, swathing hit. I was yelling, he was yelping, The noise was quite insane, As he cut a huge wide furrow In our lush lawn’s green terrain. The plough got stuck fast suddenly, The dog wrenched off his feet And he landed, winded on the ground Like a hundred yards athlete. I dismantled the plough And scattered the bits, No more projects from my thinking cap, As I surveyed the garden wreckage Of my lockdown’s worst mishap.