I have renamed the
sweet dog we got yesterday Jezebel. A name that generally is used to describe a "wicked female." Thats her, wicked. I know now why she was shown the door. She is bad, bad, bad. It has not a thing to do with being gun shy. No indeed. She is pure sass and spite wrapped up in a cute little body with a beguiling and misleading sweet face.
Not even the way she follows me can appease me. All cute and wagging her tail like she is the happiest puppy soul on earth.
Not even the deep, beautiful baying sound of her voice can warm my heart.
Not even the way she has shaken my precious Duke out of his slumbering ways.
Not even the way she helped me put Rachel to bed. She just jumped right in there and snuggled up to my sweet baby and kissed her goodnight like she's been doing it for years. Since kids with disabilities can be unpredictable, not every dog will warm to them. This one did. I'm certain now it's all for show. And brownie points.
What could upset me to the point I have to struggle to forgive this creature? What could turn my heart so cold? This bad little doggie has a "thing" for yarn. I have rescued 3 skeins of yarn from this little devil. At first, it was sort of funny the way she stuck her nose right into a plastic bag and pulled out the cheap acrylic baby yarn. That was cute. In 10 seconds flat, she jumped on the sofa with the skein in her mouth, undid the wrapper and began to unwind it. Like a freaking pro. I immediately recognized this as a BAD sign. I promptly went around hiding the yarn that was just laying around the joint, including the new stuff. Then I got sidetracked by the siren call of all that brand new yarn.
I got out my yarn swift and ball winder and began to wind the skeins into balls. This is ordinarily a peaceful process for as the crank on the ball winder turns and winds my yarn, my own tension unwinds. I felt the calm like I'd just swallowed a xanax only this was purely yarn induced. Until the evil little puppy decided to take a flying leap from the floor to the table to check it out. The yarn, not the table. I scold the little beast (still trying to be gentle since I'm sure she is out of sorts with the newness of things) and place her on the floor. I resume winding my yarn and just when I'm getting in my zone again I hear a noise, look behind me and see her with a ball of yarn in her mouth that is connected to a live work in progress. A moebius scarf. OMG. Now I'm really worried. That was a skein of Mountain Goat and was connected to a skein of mohair and Mountain Moguls and she has dragged it all 8 feet from where it was perched. All very dear in a costly way and a gift for my yoga instructor. This dog is possessed! I scold and she looks at me like OK, I get it, NO YARN!
In the meantime, I put the dog in the yard and finished hiding all my yarn (she does follow me everywhere so I didn't want her to see my hiding spots.) This is doubly difficult because outside of my family, nobody really knows how difficult hiding "all my yarn" may be. It's pretty much everywhere since I like to display my stash as the art I think it is. It's in bowls, vases, on tabletops in working bags and one skein of camel yarn is wrapped around a carved camel's neck. Remember? I'm Lebanese-we all have a camel in our homes. It's a task to hide it all. The dog begins to yodel in the backyard (charming me with her soulful voice-dammit) and Duke goes out to join her. All is well and I let down my guard and forgive her. Fool.
Later, as my oldest daughter packs up her stuff to leave for the evening, I hear her giggle and quietly say "OH NO." The beast has found my pink sweater. Still with live stitches on the needles. My daughter was trying to cover for her-like she's this little devil's sibling or something. I scooped up the sweater and put it up high but still haven't had the heart to look and see if anything is awry. My heart can't take it right now. I think I'd have a meltdown if I had to find and pick up lost boucle stitches. By this point, I'd had this Jezebel for all of 10 hours and I think she took 10 years off my life.
In the morning, I'm off to find a crate. Or a shovel. I haven't decided which would be best.