On sunny Sunday summer mornings it seems British tradition to clean your cars until they shine, but in the Spring time - we garden. Today I have learnt to operate and manouvre a lawn mower. Quite an achievement for an unsavvy gardener.
But Papa Dodd has always been in charge of cutting the grass. I don't know why - that's just the way. However, Pap's has gone off to New Zealand on a business trip, leaving Mumma and I alone at home.
The garden needed sorting. So I pulled the mower out of its home. Filled it with petrol from a little green petrol cannister - how quaint.
How to get the engine roaring?
Well, I used to watch Papa pull the cord. So I copied.
Nothing.
Not even a splutter. My poor little arms (from lack of gym) couldn't yank the cord quick enough or hard enough! I am sure the neighbours were very please to hear my numerous attempts to start the stupid thing, and also my huffs and puffs of frustration getting louder and louder.
But my determination proved successful after about 20 minutes and I managed to cut the grass in the front and back garden. Though I must add that trying to mow in straight lines is far more difficult than it looks.
We have wonky lines, bald patches, bits that I might have missed but at least it's now short grass.
Never mind.
Papa is home next week.
He'll sort us out.
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