Finding time to putter in the garden is tougher than I thought with a new puppy. My new Jack Russell, Finch, is a stout and sturdy soul, and at 14 weeks already weighs in at a hefty eleven pounds. He’s sort of long and low, and his fat belly grazes the ground as he scours the front yard garden for crickets and earthworms. We started puppy classes three weeks ago and have not yet mastered the life-saving essentials of stay and come. So fall chores in the garden have taken on an added level of difficulty: Just try raking oak leaves into something resembling a pile with a full-throttle terrier pup on the loose. Sure, my good dog Scout, almost nine years old and steadfast, keeps him in check. But when it came time last weekend to start digging out the Joe Pye weed in my front yard and planting the hundreds of bulbs that were piling up on my front porch, I knew I had to stash the puppy in the house. After all, there’s a fine line between general weekend multitasking and gardening while under the influence of a minor canine.