Mornings are the best.
I get treats. We’ve had some rest.
Is that Mom I hear?
My intentions were good.
Though I’ve never been good with my hands.
“Maybe it’s the arthritis,” is the line I’ve used to excuse myself from participating in fiber arts like knitting, weaving and crocheting for years.
Yet I so admire the end products, especially when the chilly month of November rolls around. And thick skeins of wool in their rainbow of colors always draw me in.
As did a recent notice for a crocheting class: “Coffee and Crocheting, $5.00.”
The yarn and crochet hook were even included in the price.
I signed up immediately.
My grandmother had patiently tried to teach me when I was ten, but back then I was a reluctant student.
When I first arrived at my class I realized I was the true novice in the group. Most had at least some recent experience and their hooks were already flying as I took my first sip of hot coffee.
Still I was proud of myself for even showing up and giving it a go. And when I left two hours later, I had the beginnings of a cozy warm cowl to match my $10.00 Santa Red down coat that I’d just bought at a second hand store
I also had some great links to You Tube videos to help me finish up my project.
But I discovered this morning my tenacious terrier Tuck’s intentions are anything but admirable when it comes to a potential crocheting career for me.
While I was out taking my pup Tinkerbelle for a quick stroll, Tuck jumped up on the dining room table. He grabbed the bag with the my cowl and skeins and in three minutes created his own brilliant piece of art by stringing the yarn across, then up and under my coffee table.
Next he grabbed a second bag and also dragged it down to the carpet. I had just purchased a sweet little handmade lamb for a potential Christmas gift. Tuck had yanked it out, deciding it needed it’s own red scarf for the winter.
He had unraveled part of my crochet work and then managed to take what was left and wind it around the lamb’s neck.
I have to admit the lamb looks pretty happy about it.
Maybe Tuck’s intentions really weren’t so bad.
After all, my practice stitches were fairly sloppy and should be redone.
And knowing Tuck loves that little dog earred lamb just as much as I do, we’ve decided she staying with us this Christmas.
It was supposed to be my chihuahua Tinkerbelle’s costume.
A pretty tutu it was, bought second hand from the rescue group for Tink’s very first Halloween.
But Tink was terrified and absolutely refused to wear it.
Sometime on Halloween night my terrier Tucker found that tutu on the dining room table, and thinking it was some kind of a tasty treat pulled it right down on the rug.
Once I turned on the lights in the morning, I jumped.
I saw Tuck had learned a very spooky new trick.
Somehow he’d managed to get the tutu up on his head just like a crown.
Now Tuck’s a senior and has never been fond of Halloween. Typically he’d hide under the couch shaking his fears away until the last of the door knocking ghosts and goblins were gone.
But I guess you can always change, no matter if you’re young or old.
And looking at Tuck’s face I believe that my old boy is mighty proud of himself, just as he should be.