Woolybuns

The Best Comment I Heard All Weekend

I had my camera this weekend but never really got to use it.  A downside to being a vendor - you have to watch for who wants help and these days who might have sticky fingers, who wants a bit of information, even occasionally who wants to purchase (and I thank you for that!).  So I don't get to goof as much as when I'm a spender. Thankfully, most of you wonderfully wacky wimmen wander over and share the fun.  Lucia did just that.  She sort of silently slipped into my booth, chatting a bit while her hands  explored.  Next thing I knew, she was cheek to cheek with a big cloud of Corrie Silk Salmon, and I so wish I had pulled out the camera on video mode, because she was sighing and then she quietly said, "We need a room."

Why You Shouldn't Pick Up Fibers From The Mill On Your Way To A Fiber Festival

All that angora I dyed before CTSW (show of hands? how many of you measure time by the latest fiber event?) was intended blending with some corriedale fleeces for sale at NHSW.  The friendly (and talented) folks at Still River Mill came through for me.  The fleeces had been sitting in their queue while the bunnies fluffed, so the rovings were ready a few days in advance of my need for them.  With gas prices these days, I decided economic sense dictated picking up the fibers on my way up to NHSW.  Deirdre told me there were three big bags, so leave enough room.  I have a Saab station wagon and a car top carrier.  I put the squishables in the carrier, while the living, too big and delicates get inside-the-car space.  When I picked up the fibers, the big bags numbered 5, not three. Squishable though they may be, that was too much for the carrier.  Some of it had to squish into the car, in the front seat.  So picture it.  New fibers I've not seen in their current prettified state, parked on the seat next to me as I hurtled along at my standard cruising speed (please note: I distinctly possibly have not yet succeeded in my efforts to be good like Norma).  Deirdre's words echoed in my brain: they came out really nice! Connecticut through Massachusetts driving demands extra care, plus I got delayed by someone else's fatal car accident only a few short miles into the trip, a very sobering enforcement of the need to be careful.  I forced my hands to stay on the wheel, my attention on the road,  no matter the temptation just inches away.    Most of my driving that direction takes me into Maine, so when I'm heading up to NH, I have to pay close attention or I miss the exit for I-93 or end up on I-93 south instead of north.  But finally, I made it safely to much more relaxed driving, the last leg of the trip on I-89, a pretty day, light traffic, only a few more exits to go.  The siren song seductively close.  Corrie Bluebunny calling.   My fingers developed a mind of their own and kind of crawled over to the that goody bag full of pretty and soft.  Oh, oh, ohohoh!  I couldn't resist.  My whole hand plunged right in and I fondled right there in the car.  And in mid ecstasy there in the left lane, I followed the car in front of me right off the highway on a left hand exit onto a limited access no safe place to turn around road heading west directly away from the fairgrounds.  Crap!  I finally got turned around, made careful note that the road I didn't want headed off to the right, so stayed to the left and copped another feel of the fiber.  And promptly headed south on I-89, not north.  Another 5 miles the wrong way.  Sigh. 

It was sooo worth it.

How?? Why??? A Headscratcher...

So this guy opens up the hood of his trunk and his engine has sprouted eyes and is growling at him.  Turns out he has a 60 pound pitbull wedged in there.  Don't worry, the poor dog is safely housed at an animal shelter now, probably dirty and scared, but not hurt.  But what on earth prompted her to insert herself so thoroughly into the engine?  Perhaps she was cold and the engine was warm when she found it.  Or perhaps she thought there was something tasty to eat, because while stuck in the engine, she did chew up lots of stuff.  Yikes!

Triple Treat

The yarns I dyed yesterday.  The fiber: equal amounts of polwarth, silk, and angora, spun for me.  I used three colors for each colorway.   I had so much fun dyeing, I followed up today with immersion dyeing half a pound of merino top, 4 different solid colors, to blend with angora.  I might get some carded up in time for my booth this weekend, but probably not all of it.  And  I might try my hand at some multicolor batts.  And this is when I realize why I do this.  The end result is as satisfying as the process.  But isn't it curious that I have no desire to knit these yarns.  Which is good because they will all be in my booth this weekend. 

What Day Is It?

Panic day.  That's the day when, even though I've known about this for a full year, it suddenly dawns on me that New Hampshire Sheep and Wool is this weekend.  I have a fiber booth to fill.  It's the day when I lose all sense and perspective and think that over the next 4 days, I can prepare a whole bunch of pounds of enticing fibers you folks just can't resist.   The day I wonder why the heck I do this. 

So I dumped some polwarth, silk and angora yarn into a bucket of water, soap and vinegar.  I dug out pots and bottles, colors, and rubber gloves.  Everything is now all assembled.   It's dyeing time again.   

A Dog's Gotta Do What a Dog's Gotta Do

I wrestled a long time with An Issue.  Gypsy was a bit slow on the housebreaking progress, but once she was convinced that telling me she had to go was a good idea, I started sending the dogs outside to potty on their own.  It didn't take too long before I started noticing they both developed Really.  Stinky.  Breath.  I hadn't experienced that particular stench on one of my dog's breath before and really had no idea what was causing it.  And then came the day when I saw what was causing it.  Caution: a really disgusting statement ahead.  If you are like me, it will totally gross you out.  I'm serious.  There is no funny punch line ahead. You might want to not read it.  I certainly never wanted to witness it. 

They were eating their own and each other's poop.

Ok.  Seriously disgusting.  Gross.  It turns my stomach.  I've learned that's not unusual dog behavior.  I've also learned it is behavior that, once adopted, is not likely to be stopped.  You can try assorted flavoring efforts to dissuade them, but in general, that's ineffective.  I tried.  For months, I tried.  You can only prevent the behavior by constant meticulous pick up and hyper vigilance.   And I did that, along with the attempts at behavior modification (positive, not punitive because punitive makes for anxious dogs, leading to more unacceptable behavior).  But a dog with Molly's persistence and intelligence is not easily dissuaded from anything.  And Gypsy follows Molly's lead. 

In discussing this Issue with their breeders, I discovered some humans are far more capable of accepting such behavior than I am.  Turns out, that activity is well established among Gypsy's litter mates, as well as Molly's mom.  Their breeders routinely rinse the dogs' mouths with mouthwash.  I know intellectually that the dogs do not find it a disgusting habit.  But as much as I tried to understand and accept and work around it, I was left with a seriously high level of revulsion.  They'd come rushing inside with that breath and want to kiss me and lick me as happy dogs do.  It made me almost vomit.  Which meant I kept pushing them away.  And the poor dogs just didn't understand.  And on one dog training show I watched in hopes of learning how to train them out of this, the trainer had one family's home tested.  Turns out their dog, doing the same thing, left high levels of e. coli on almost every surface of the house.  Including kitchen counters. 

There is much less than pleasant that I have learned to deal with.  Dirty bunny butts - well, nuff said on that.  But I can't get past this.  And I can't stand the dogs being so unhappy with being rejected when all they want to do is love me.  They deserve better.  It took several months of attempts to change the situation and some serious soul searching, but in the end, my reaction is as insurmountable as the dogs' behavior.  A couple weeks ago, I sent them back to their breeders.   It was not an easy decision, but it was the right one.

Kind of Like a Good Piece of Chocolate

I'm babysitting Gromit this week.  He's eight and a half years old now, and starting to slow down, but he still loves his wander around outside time.  As long as someone is with him, he's quite content to poke around in the back yard.  But if you take your eyes off him for one second too long, he's gone.  Me being the distractable type, yeah, that one second too long thing kind of works for the dog.  Which is to say, yesterday I went on a dog hunt.  How he disappears so completely so fast, I dunno.  But he's talented that way.  He's a good friendly dog and really doesn't get into trouble on his wanderings and he will return, but of course there is the safety from cars and mean people or dogs to consider, so I always go looking when he ambles off.  During yesterday's hunt, I stopped to ask a woman and her young daughter, strangers to me, on their way to school if they'd seen him.  The kind souls understood and were completely ready to mobilize the neighborhood.  I told them if they spotted him or found him, I lived one street over in the intense teal house.  The mother grinned and said, oh, you're the bunny lady.  And the daughter said, "I love that house.  It's my favorite-ist house in the world!"  A short and silly interaction that just feels good.  Here I am thinking I'm nicely unknown in this town, and having seen the looks on people's faces when they see the color of my house that I know it's... well.  Not on the Approved List.  It was a sweet moment that gave me a giggle.

Finding Gromit a few minutes later was also sweet.

Life Is What Happens When You're Making Other Plans

In this case, the other plans in the making was the trip to MDSW.  Life is things like a teeny tiny part breaking off the lawn mower rendering it ineffective, my car deciding it needed a trip to the dealer,  the dryer still needs attention, and kids needing not so inconsequentials like a car.  Soooo, I could go, but I decided I don't need anything at MDSW - well, except for the socializing - and the price of gas is so ridiculous, that practicing some belt tightening is probably the better idea.  Having lost all of yesterday to dealing with the car - a bit of silliness on my part - I didn't get a lot of the things done that still need doing, so that's another vote in favor of pouting cause I'm not going to the fiber festival being fiscally responsible.  So all of you who are going, have a bit of extra fun for me, k?

So what made me spend the whole day dealing with the car?  Heh.  I sat for about 90 minutes while the mechanic diagnosed the problem (which is why knitting got done).   Then they offered me a loaner car because the repair would take at least another couple hours.  Well.  The loaner was a brand new, less than 400 miles 2008 Saab 9-3 convertible with some very nice bells and whistles like XM radio and Onstar.  Apparently my head can be turned by such things, because I promptly took the loaner, took off (born from jets indeed!), and after some trying out the performance (it is a FUN car!), drove home to deal with chores.  But you need house keys to get into a totally locked up house.  My house key sat attached to my car key back at the dealer, which is 30 miles away and not worth the gas and time to go fetch.  No problem - call the kid who's only 5 minutes away, right?  Yeah.  Good theory.  Not so good in practice.  His key didn't work.   I bought him lunch, then sent him on his way.  Nuthin' to do but spend time in the car.  Aging forgetfulness or something more Freudian?  You be the judge.  I had too much fun to care which it was.