Yarn Rascal had a Gold Paw evening. It’s been awhile since his last award so he went all out for this one.
With the yarn stash locked in the Yarn Vault along with the bamboo needles, opportunities to make a run for the Gold Paw have been slim. To further hamper his dash to Gold, Yarn Rascal is never left alone in the house and never out of our sight in the house. Still, he finds enough trouble to get into. Like a well-heeled Wall Street portfolio, Yarn Rascal has learned to diversify his acquisitions. Currently, he likes to steal and chew pens and pencils. An occasional crochet hook thoughtlessly left on an end table also works for him. But last night he out did himself.
The Skipper stepped out to the store leaving Yarn Rascal and me alone. On the couch I was entangled in half a dozen yarn strands hanging from the Spring Sweater that needs to be finished by 28th of this month. Along with the snarled yarn, I had no less than 3 sets of circular needles and their cables intertwined in the effort. Yarn Rascal was on the couch next to the tv remote. He enjoys changing channels, which he did.
In place of the news show I had been ignoring, was a movie from the Twilight saga, a craze I diligently ignored when it swept through. But for some unsound reason, the improbable plot with Bella, whose head never met a hard surface it didn’t like to bounce against, and Edward, who consistently delivered his lines as if he had a pillow over his face, caught my attention. As I watched to analyze what had attracted so many to such an impaired oeuvre I heard snow and ice crash down from the roof. If for a second I’d been in my right mind I would have known it the sound couldn’t be from snow and ice. Everything was frozen outside. More importantly, I would have seen that Yarn Rascal was no longer sitting by the remote.
During a commercial break the white blur of a madly wagging tail caught my eye. Yarn Rascal was at the top of the stairs positively delighted with himself. He had two of my hand knit socks in his mouth and was whipping them around as if they were one of his badly destroyed toys.
I don’t remember disentangling myself from yarn and needles, I don’t know what happened to Bella or Mumbles, but I remember not taking my eyes off Yarn Rascal, trying to talk him down from his extreme happiness. As I walked up the stairs, Yarn Rascal retreated with my socks into one of the rooms. His favorite game is hide and seek when he has something in his mouth that he shouldn’t. The lights upstairs were not on and all was dark. I had to guess which room he might be in, flip on the light and corner him. I chose the bedroom.
When the light came on I couldn’t believe what I saw. The antique vanity table I had painstakingly restored was on it’s side, all that was on top was now scattered over the room. It was the crash I’d heard. Yarn Rascal had leaped from the bed onto the table to gain the merino wool socks and knocked it over. In my shock, Yarn Rascal blew by me to freedom and the downstairs where it takes two people to catch him.
Remaining calm is the first step in successful dog training. When teaching a dog not to pick up undesirable objects, offer it something it likes, such as a favorite treat. But Yarn Rascal has a delicate stomach and pancreas. I haven’t found a treat that agrees with him. The only things I could offer and that he likes were a ball of Shetland Yarn (his favorite) and a pen (his second most favorite).
When The Skipper returned, Yarn Rascal was sleeping like a baby in my arms, the ball of Shetland Yarn gently cradled in his mouth.
“Did you have a quiet evening?” the Skipper asked.
“As quiet as an earthquake,” I said.
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