House Guest

On Tuesday, Shelly tweeted about a small, stray Beagle who needed a place to stay for a few days. He'd wandered across Douglas and ended up at Twist. I'm a sucker for fury, sweet creatures and took him home. He's a real gentleman and not just because he's neutered. He is clearly used to spending his days on the sofa and his nights at the foot of the bed.

He's got a red collar sans tags. A vet scanned him for a microchip, but nothing showed up. I'm sure his owners are frantic, but posts on websites and calls to shelters haven't yielded any results. 

So, he's hanging out at my house until his home is located. I've learned quite a bit about reuniting animals with their owners. The biggest thing I've learned is that it is not easy or quick. The shelters weren't willing to take my name and number, but they did 

direct me to three websites where I posted his information. By Saturday I started to call him "Murphy" because "hey dog" seemed rude.

Most days he sprawls on the floor and chases the cats. (Although Oscar has been known to haul off and whomp him on the nose.) He's also terrified of thunderstorms and insists on being held during them. 

I'm enjoying his company while I work in the garden, but I'm also looking forward to when he is reunited with his owners. 

Easter Rabbit

A knitted bunny for my grandmother.

Snow Day

Last weekend, a big winter storm hit town -- snow, ice, blowing winds, and crazy drivers. The weathermen seemed to enjoy making extreme predictions and warning everyone not to leave the house. It reminded me of the Little House on the Prairie books, and how the blizzards descended on that little family. They didn't even have weather forecasts or snow predictions. They just stayed in their little log cabin and kept the fire going.  

I wonder how they stayed in such a small place without knowing what would happen next. I wonder how they managed to be somewhat civil to each other. My sister and I certainly didn't manage that when we were sharing a bedroom. We probably would have turned up our noses at venison and salt pork too.

For my storm preparations, I ran around outside and quickly picked daffodils to save them from the unexpected cold. They had formed buds, but none of the buds were open. Inside, on the kitchen counter, they opened quickly and smelled fragrant. It seemed so decadent. Without the extreme weather, I would have left them in the garden where they would have lasted longer. Instead, I got a burst of beauty this weekend. Some buds weren't plucked from the plants in my  haste to get out of the  sleet. A few days later, after the big melt, the ones that were left behind are blooming despite having survived cold conditions. The lettuce is even more vigorous for having braved the weather, but lettuce is always a miracle plant.

While the garden held up admirably, my pioneer spirit fled. (This is doubly shocking because I spent most of grade school wishing I were Laura Ingalls Wilder. Shut up. She had a bonnet.) Knitting, reading, napping, and eating could only sustain me so long. I was thinking of a venti white chocolate mocha from the nearby Starbucks. My green tea seemed like gruel by comparison.  Everyone took another nap under the down comforter.

And then, because I was trapped inside with my camera, flowers, cats and cat toys, and because I was starting to get stir crazy after having been inside my house for at least 18 consecutive hours, I took pictures of my cats to share with the world. (Eighteen hours can be a very long time. Especially in Sally Knitz years. Without someone to brew my coffee.) Please forgive me.