This dog is going to drive me to drink.
Husband sent me a text message when he got home from work: “Dog was sick.”
We know he’s a delicate flower, and he has occasionally had tummy troubles, especially when he’s hungry. I thought we’d gotten it all sorted out – he gets a snack before bed, and another before I leave for work in the morning so there’s something in his stomach, which seems to work nicely.
Fortunately, Husband had cleaned up the mess by the time I got home. He thought he had, anyway.
I went upstairs to change my clothes, and there was a not-so-nice little surprise for me in the middle of the bedroom rug.
So I did what I usually do in these circumstances – I took off my work clothes, got a roll of paper towels and the portable carpet cleaner, and went to work.
Clearly, the poor pup had eaten something that didn’t agree with him. And now I knew what it was.
That dog had apparently swallowed a ball of yarn. A BALL of YARN.
As an aside, I’ve always thought he was a cat in a giant dog suit.
Seriously, though, the night before, I had started working on a new pair of socks, a pattern that purports to “bust” my “stash” – that is, a sock of many random colors that would use up some of the bits and bobs of leftover sock yarn from past projects, which I usually keep in a stoneware bowl on the bookshelf, kind of as a working decorative item.
APPARENTLY, this giant goober, somewhere in his furry little brain, came to the conclusion that the container full of colorful balls, which I’d moved to the table where I had been working, was some sort of candy dish and thought he’d sample one.
So now, when I leave for work, I tell him, “Hold down the fort, keep the house safe, stay out of trouble, and DON’T EAT MY KNITTING.”