Every spring, something happens that makes Danny worry.
The lawnmower comes out of hibernation.
While the mower is doing its job, Danny is doing this:
He stalks the machine, circling it from a distance, never taking his eyes off it. I tell him to go inside, but he won't listen.
At this point, he's lost the domesticated part of his dog-brain. All he knows now is: Lawnmower, Bad. Moving, Good.
If I were the lawnmower I'd sleep with one eye open.