Dogs. Whatever possessed us to get dogs?
I’m upstairs, sorting the laundry, while Cai and Fergus are bopping around the living room. Growls, grunts, the occasional yip, a few full-out barks, some slurpy licking.
Wait a minute. That slurpy licking sound, what is it?
Oh, right, it’s one of the yarn swatches I’ve made recently. I hand the swatches over to Cuca as cat toys, but the dogs eventually appropriate them as chewies. Most of these ersatz chewies are in the garbage can by now.
Downstairs I waddle, laundry basket on hip, to find Fergus with one of E.g.’s new, hand-made-by-moi, crocheted slippers in his mouth.
“Fergus, that’s NOT a chew toy.” Taking the slipper from him, I’m about to set it and the other slipper in the coat closet when I notice that one of the ankle patches is missing.
And I can’t find it anywhere.