Three's Company

A few weeks ago I met a friend for lunch at The Fickle Pickle in Historic Roswell.  It was a beautiful Saturday, and people were out shopping and lunching on patios.  As luck would have it, there was also an Angels Among Us pet adoption going on in the parking area.

(Loyal readers may know that Angels Among Us is also the group through whom we adopted George.  This will be important later.)

I was averting my eyes and walking away like any normal person who already has two mutts at home.  My friend and I ate our lovely lunch and had a wonderful chat before heading back to the car.  As we walked back I glanced over and saw a beagle at the adoption.  He was looking at me.  I had to pet him.  Once.  Just give him a little love.  He reminded me so much of our sweet beagle boy, Divot.  His name is Duffy.

Petting him was a mistake.  Picking him up?  End of story.  He was so sweet, laying in my arms.  I asked about him - surely an adorable beagle would be adopted quickly.  But no, they think he's about 8 years old and geriatric dogs are so much harder to place.

A homeless, elderly beagle?  How could I leave him.  I texted The Pit Boss a picture.  For the record, TPB is at least as big of a dog lover and sucker for homeless animals as I am.  I put Duffy down and walked away, but he tried to follow me.

I called home and said, "If the answer is no, tell me now because otherwise I'm bringing this dog home."

The Pit Boss said, "Do what you gotta do."

I think he might regret that a little bit now.

I asked what process I would have to go through, knowing that a home visit and background check were in order.  I told them we had adopted through them in 2011.  They asked who I adopted last time, and I said, "Georgie."

What are the odds?  The woman who found George was right there.  She pulled up a picture of him on her iPad as I was doing the same on my phone.  And guess what.  She also found Duffy.  In the same neighborhood.

(Yes, I asked the question.  What is up in that neighborhood?  She said she thinks people know she lives there and possibly dump dogs knowing she will save them.  Unreal.)  

Which meant that I got to take him home right then.

After some sniffing, a little bit of growling, and much peeing on the same spot, the dogs have reached an agreement.  No one is allowed to touch the toys except Duffy.  No one is even allowed to look at them longingly.  No one is allowed to sleep in Gracie's room except Duffy.  The order of food has to be George, then Duffy, then Daisy or there will be a fight and/or one of the boys will take Daisy's food right out of her mouth.

After the chair in Gracie's room, Duffy has found his favorite spot: 

I blame Pam. 



Tweet

Goodbye, Div

I'm sad to say that our sweet beagle boy, Divot, has gone to the Rainbow Bridge [warning! Kleenex alert!]

BeaglesBay King Arthur's Wizard, aka "Divot" was born April 16, 1999. He was diagnosed with bladder cancer this past April, a less common but unforgiving cancer in dogs. Wednesday night he took a turn for the worse, and we realized it was time. He died Thursday morning in my arms with a belly full of cookies.

Divot may not have been the world's smartest dog, but he was sweet and gentle, especially with children and the elderly. He would, in the manner of most beagles, eat anything and everything, from a Sprite can as a puppy [yes, that required an ER visit] to broccoli - just not the raw meat that the holistic vet recommended when he got sick. He would not fetch, but he could walk forever and almost caught that squirrel in the back yard once. He loved to chew ice cubes and was particular about bedtime. A good night's sleep is critical for the next day's napping, you know.

He leaves to cherish his memory three bereft children, a daddy who let him sit on the couch when the Braves were on, and his momma who cooked brown rice and chicken for him when the going got tough; also, the two dogs next door who now have no one to bark at.

Run to the Rainbow Bridge, Div. We miss you already.

It's a Green Thang...

I've read on several other blogs about quilters who recyle soft stuff when it is finally, undeniably, too small to sew into anything else by throwing it into an old pillowcase. When the pillowcase is full, it is sewn shut to make a pet bed.

I thought this was a great idea; the only problem being that I never seem to have old pillowcases. This has come up before - at the guild quilt show we are asked to deliver our quilts each in their own pillowcase. Each November my children have been asked, invariably in first grade but also in other years, to send in an old white pillowcase to help recreate the first Thanksgiving. Where these pillowcases are supposed to come from, I do not know.

What I do always have lots of is old towels. Sure, you can cut them up to make rags, but just how many rags does one person need? Maybe if I cleaned more I'd go through them a little faster. But let's not dwell on that. Anyway, I decided to try it with a towel.

First I trimmed away the worst of the frayed edges. Then I matched up the short edges and used a tight zig-zag stitch to sew up the sides. I used a denim needle, but still broke the first one going through the tightly woven strip. After that lesson, I gently "walked" the machine through that part and it was fine. It made a little pouch that looked like this...

...which fit perfectly into an old basket I had on hand. The basket was filled with random odds and ends, and this project motivated me to go through it and pitch at least half the items, and put most of the rest in the GoodWill pile. I also found a small photo album with pictures of me when I was pregnant with my oldest child. Treasure!

I put the basket next to my cutting table to catch those skinny slivers of fabric. It's amazing how quickly it fills up!

When it is nice and fluffy, I will sew it shut. I'm sure it will be a perfect crate cushion for Divot. The best part is that when it gets nasty (he's a beagle!) I can pitch it into the compost heap without a second thought.

I hope you find some project today that gives you a feeling of satisfaction.