Crafty Canine

Mum says I’m crafty.
I’m crafty? Who me?

An artist I ain’t.
Perhaps I could paint
using, at a push,
my tail as a brush,
but I cannot draw:
it’s hard with a paw.

Mum says I’m crafty
How daft can she be?

Am I a sculptor?
A bone I could gnaw
into a cool shape,
and with my claws scrape
designer gashes
adding mud splashes.

Mum says I’m crafty
She must be batty!

I cannot crochet
or do macrame,
it doesn’t befit
although I can knit
my lead in tangles
until it strangles.

Mum says I’m crafty.
Just how, exactly?

At origami
I might possibly
excel. I’m good at
tearing things apart,
but my paper art
is not very smart.

Mum says I’m crafty.
Why? How can that be?

Is she believing
that basket weaving
is a vocation
for an Alsation?
I’m better chewing
than at renewing.

Mum says I’m crafty
I’m crafty? Really?