Buzzzzzzz... Attention Span While Crocheting
"Cats regard people as warm-blooded furniture."
- Jacquelyn Mitchard
Sometimes I think my attention span rivals that of a house fly. It’s true that usually I don’t start crocheting until after I’ve eaten dinner after a day at work, so I am tired.
However, another thought has recently occurred to me… perhaps my houseful of pets has a bit to do with it.
To say I’m a pet lover is an understatement. Growing up, our household consisted of pets of every kind--dogs and cats, fish, newts, frogs. I think at one time I had three tanks in my little bedroom.
As an adult, while I no longer have tanks (but I would if I had someplace to put them), I have an elderly, somewhat senile Shiba Inu and two young ‘uns, as the locals here would say. Add to the chaos three cats. They all have stories to tell and their own ways of causing distractions while I crochet.
By far, my cat, Pooh Bear (Penny is her given name) is the biggest culprit. She is a very insistent lap cat who loves to play with the yarn. My husband and I met her on a camping trip to Pennyrile State Forest in Kentucky. She was about 8 months old and the women working in the camp store told us someone had left her there. So after 5 days in a tent and being smuggled into two hotel rooms, she joined our household.
Next came Margot (named by my stepdaughter for Gwenth Paltrow's character in Life Aquatic). She is polite when sleeping on my lap while I work but insistent that she be there. She's much preferred to Pooh when crocheting. Did I mention Pooh drools a bit when she gets lovey dovey. Yeeks!
I had seen young black cats in the neighborhood off and on all summer, and in early fall I was walking home from the train, and there she was, sitting on my porch. She was skinny and only had half a tail. The tail had healed well, so the injury must have happened at a young age. Because my oldest cat at that time ruled the roost with an iron fist, Margot had a tough time adjusting. She would pull open a cabinet door above my frig, that happened to be empty, and hide in there. Eventually I put a towel in there for her and food on top of the frig. When Katie the roost ruler died of thyroid disease, Margot came out of her shell. She and Pooh are best of friends.
Holly. In her senility, if I don't pet her she will sit and stare at me. Just stares. She seems to have no concept of time. If the other dogs get too rambunctious, though, she scratches on the floor, over and over again. The chaos becomes too much for her. If we can't distract her, we put her in her crate and she will go to sleep, able to finally relax in the quiet of my bedroom.
Holly came to us on a very cold Christmas day evening in Chicago. We had put the dogs out for their last bathroom run and they started barking the “something’s wrong” bark. My husband to be also recognized the alarm barking and went outside to investigate. There in the alley was Holly. And she was a mess. She was skinny, had lost probably 40% of her hair, had open sores, her eyes were so infected she could hardly open them and her ears were infected as well. Eventually we learned she had heartworms. I wonder if she could have survived the night, which was subzero that evening, if our dogs hadn't sounded the alarm. Perhaps she just knew where to go, that we would take her in on such a cold night.
Thirteen years later she is still going strong, although she has arthritis and has gotten a bit loopy in her old age.
Next came Big, our German Shepherd, who takes his job as big brother very seriously. And, no, he isn’t named after Big from Sex in the City. He was 40 lbs at 4 months of age, so Big Boy seemed appropriate. He's given to fits of energy that can cause chaos in the house. As it rains a lot here, they are sometimes cooped up for days. One swipe of a paw and there goes my project on the floor.
He also has an interesting story: I had taken a day off of work and hubs and I went for breakfast. We agreed that we’d get a Shepherd when get got his disability, and the time had finally come. As we were talking about this over breakfast, a woman in the next booth over asked us if we were looking for a Shepherd. A bit strange, to say the least. It turns out two months earlier she had taken a bad fall and had to have bone grafts in her right shoulder. So Big had never been on a leash. She could only pet him and couldn’t even pick him up. She said she couldn’t just give him to a rescue. We came home with another dog that day.
After relocating here to the Blue Ridge Mountains, we were ready to get Big friend. I’m a strong believer in multiple dogs, and an elderly, loopy Shiba Inu just wasn‘t doing it for a young dog. We really wanted another Shepherd or at least a mix. We found Emma (aka "Peanut") on Petfinder.com. Her mom was a Shepherd, and by the looks of the puppies, her dad was a yellow Lab. Her mother came to the Lake Norman Animal Rescue via animal control. She was pregnant and set to be put down. A Rescue volunteer brought her home and kept her and the pups in her house, along with her young children. Emma is a breath of fresh air and a great companion for Big. She is less hyper than a Lab but contains the wonderful Lab outlook on life. Unfortunately, she has the lab need for something in her mouth, and can be a thief if you aren't careful. A ball of yarn, perfect. So now I have hairy yarn mixed with a bit of dog spit.
And, last but not least, Love. About 9 months after my husband and I moved here, my stepdaughter and her fiancé followed so they could go to college. Along came another fur, little miss Love, their black and white kitty. She is about 5 lbs and has the attitude of a temperamental movie star. And is unbelievably adorable. She is the only one of the motley crew that can claim innocence when it comes to my crocheting. She is well behaved and prefers to just hang out on the couch.
So, when I am frustrated when I lose my place in a pattern or forget my stitch count, I need to count my blessings. I wouldn’t trade them for the world!
Happy Hooking,
Blue Ridge Mountain Girl
- Jacquelyn Mitchard
Sometimes I think my attention span rivals that of a house fly. It’s true that usually I don’t start crocheting until after I’ve eaten dinner after a day at work, so I am tired.
However, another thought has recently occurred to me… perhaps my houseful of pets has a bit to do with it.
To say I’m a pet lover is an understatement. Growing up, our household consisted of pets of every kind--dogs and cats, fish, newts, frogs. I think at one time I had three tanks in my little bedroom.
As an adult, while I no longer have tanks (but I would if I had someplace to put them), I have an elderly, somewhat senile Shiba Inu and two young ‘uns, as the locals here would say. Add to the chaos three cats. They all have stories to tell and their own ways of causing distractions while I crochet.
By far, my cat, Pooh Bear (Penny is her given name) is the biggest culprit. She is a very insistent lap cat who loves to play with the yarn. My husband and I met her on a camping trip to Pennyrile State Forest in Kentucky. She was about 8 months old and the women working in the camp store told us someone had left her there. So after 5 days in a tent and being smuggled into two hotel rooms, she joined our household.
Next came Margot (named by my stepdaughter for Gwenth Paltrow's character in Life Aquatic). She is polite when sleeping on my lap while I work but insistent that she be there. She's much preferred to Pooh when crocheting. Did I mention Pooh drools a bit when she gets lovey dovey. Yeeks!I had seen young black cats in the neighborhood off and on all summer, and in early fall I was walking home from the train, and there she was, sitting on my porch. She was skinny and only had half a tail. The tail had healed well, so the injury must have happened at a young age. Because my oldest cat at that time ruled the roost with an iron fist, Margot had a tough time adjusting. She would pull open a cabinet door above my frig, that happened to be empty, and hide in there. Eventually I put a towel in there for her and food on top of the frig. When Katie the roost ruler died of thyroid disease, Margot came out of her shell. She and Pooh are best of friends.
Holly. In her senility, if I don't pet her she will sit and stare at me. Just stares. She seems to have no concept of time. If the other dogs get too rambunctious, though, she scratches on the floor, over and over again. The chaos becomes too much for her. If we can't distract her, we put her in her crate and she will go to sleep, able to finally relax in the quiet of my bedroom.Holly came to us on a very cold Christmas day evening in Chicago. We had put the dogs out for their last bathroom run and they started barking the “something’s wrong” bark. My husband to be also recognized the alarm barking and went outside to investigate. There in the alley was Holly. And she was a mess. She was skinny, had lost probably 40% of her hair, had open sores, her eyes were so infected she could hardly open them and her ears were infected as well. Eventually we learned she had heartworms. I wonder if she could have survived the night, which was subzero that evening, if our dogs hadn't sounded the alarm. Perhaps she just knew where to go, that we would take her in on such a cold night.
Thirteen years later she is still going strong, although she has arthritis and has gotten a bit loopy in her old age.
Next came Big, our German Shepherd, who takes his job as big brother very seriously. And, no, he isn’t named after Big from Sex in the City. He was 40 lbs at 4 months of age, so Big Boy seemed appropriate. He's given to fits of energy that can cause chaos in the house. As it rains a lot here, they are sometimes cooped up for days. One swipe of a paw and there goes my project on the floor.He also has an interesting story: I had taken a day off of work and hubs and I went for breakfast. We agreed that we’d get a Shepherd when get got his disability, and the time had finally come. As we were talking about this over breakfast, a woman in the next booth over asked us if we were looking for a Shepherd. A bit strange, to say the least. It turns out two months earlier she had taken a bad fall and had to have bone grafts in her right shoulder. So Big had never been on a leash. She could only pet him and couldn’t even pick him up. She said she couldn’t just give him to a rescue. We came home with another dog that day.
After relocating here to the Blue Ridge Mountains, we were ready to get Big friend. I’m a strong believer in multiple dogs, and an elderly, loopy Shiba Inu just wasn‘t doing it for a young dog. We really wanted another Shepherd or at least a mix. We found Emma (aka "Peanut") on Petfinder.com. Her mom was a Shepherd, and by the looks of the puppies, her dad was a yellow Lab. Her mother came to the Lake Norman Animal Rescue via animal control. She was pregnant and set to be put down. A Rescue volunteer brought her home and kept her and the pups in her house, along with her young children. Emma is a breath of fresh air and a great companion for Big. She is less hyper than a Lab but contains the wonderful Lab outlook on life. Unfortunately, she has the lab need for something in her mouth, and can be a thief if you aren't careful. A ball of yarn, perfect. So now I have hairy yarn mixed with a bit of dog spit.And, last but not least, Love. About 9 months after my husband and I moved here, my stepdaughter and her fiancé followed so they could go to college. Along came another fur, little miss Love, their black and white kitty. She is about 5 lbs and has the attitude of a temperamental movie star. And is unbelievably adorable. She is the only one of the motley crew that can claim innocence when it comes to my crocheting. She is well behaved and prefers to just hang out on the couch.
So, when I am frustrated when I lose my place in a pattern or forget my stitch count, I need to count my blessings. I wouldn’t trade them for the world!
Happy Hooking,
Blue Ridge Mountain Girl
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