strawberry fields forever

I’m transplanting strawberries. My dog is funny because when transplanting for some reason, for him, the row I’m working on is the most desirable place to be on the entire planet and he walks right exactly down the row. Then he runs and finds something to chew on and comes back and again lays right in the row. I mean how can he even tell? I suppose I expose some damp cool soil and there he plops himself down.
If we’re laying plastic for watermelon I have to leave him at home because he’ll walk right down the row of plastic mulch making holes all over it in undesirable places.
His name is Eddie. Eddie Spaggetti.