Archive for April 21st, 2014

Knit Night

A peaceful evening of knitting hasn’t been had around here for about 1 year. Hmm…1 year, ah! The arrival of Yarn Rascal. Taking up needles and yarn is Yarn Rascal’s cue to engage in destructive play, whereby he methodically tears apart his favorite toy of the moment while staring straight at me. After all, why bother doing the crime if Mother isn’t watching?

An evening of knitting means I keep one eye on Yarn Rascal and one eye on my knitting. It also means positioning yarn, project, and equipment so it can be quickly and easily put aside to make a mad dash attempt to rescue the toy before the coup d’etat. It is everything but relaxing.

I scour pet stores and online pet shops for soft toys that are specially constructed for the destructive soft toy loving dog. When I find them and if they have a shape I think he will like, I buy them. Yarn Rascal has cost me more in toys than a really good bad yarn binge.

Last night he pulled out Mr. Dragon. He loves, loves, loves, Mr. Dragon so I knew the toy had to be saved. At first, I put the knitting down buying time for Mr. Dragon’s life and me. Yarn Rascal countered by laying his chin on the toy. We stared at each other for a bit. I reminded him how much he loved Mr. Dragon and why Mr. Dragon did not deserve to be turned into a rag.

When I thought the crucial moment had passed and the crisis averted the idea of picking up needles and yarn briefly flitted through my mind. At the same moment, Yarn Rascal began wagging his tail in that way he has that means he’s up to no good and the rescue of Mr. Dragon was fully engaged.

I jumped from the chair, pulling an upper back muscle I didn’t know I had until the exquisite pain made my breath catch, and crashed to the floor, right arm extended, hand open but just missed grabbing Mr. Dragon. I stayed on the floor frozen by upper back pain. Yarn Rascal, tail madly wagging with delight, had Mr. Dragon dangling from his mouth just out of my reach.

During the time it took me to get to my knees and then stand, Yarn Rascal had commenced chewing Mr. Dragon’s wing in hopes of separating it from the body before I became mobile again. I am happy to say he failed. Another lunge by me, another stab of pain from the muscle, another successful feint by Yarn Rascal and chasing the dog through out the house to get his toy away from him was top of the agenda for the evening. The time flew by.

At the bitter end, Yarn Rascal was so tired he finally collapsed on the floor panting, dropping Mr. Dragon. I retrieved the toy, still intact, and hobbled to the antique secretary’s desk where I put Mr. Dragon inside for safe keeping.

The rest of the night I sat in the chair. Yarn Rascal was asleep at my feet, a small heating pad was on my aching back muscle, and an ice bag was on my right knee. I didn’t even flirt with the idea of yarn and needles.

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