This afternoon was one of those lovely days I decided to take advantage of by working on a knitting project outside. I'm working on this lovely shawl using Malabrigo sock yarn in Caribeno, which is shades of blue, for the mitered diamond pattern on top, and Misti Alpaca in another shade of blue for the bottom part. I'm going with my friend, Angel, to Knitting Temptations in Dublin the end of the month for a Malabrigo yarn trunk show and am hoping to get it finished so I can wear it when we go. At least, I'm hoping to have it finished by then.
Like many times before, I decided to sit out in the pasture with the animals and enjoy the shade, while watching the lambs jump and play. They are so fun to watch when they're tiny. I got my folding chair, sat it under a tree, plunked my rear in it, took out my knitting, and began. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.
About 45 minutes into my enjoyment, Tucker, our American Saddlebred, stopped munching grass, stood up real tall, and looked at me. Both ears were perked up and he started making snorty sounds. I couldn't figure out what had him so weirded out, and went back to knitting. Tucker, however, didn't go back to eating. Instead he walked up to me to check out what I was doing. He put his snout right in my knitting and took a big snuffly sniff. He did this several times and each time I'd tell him to back up, which he did. He would wander away and back again like he was checking on my progress.
After a bit I saw that Josie, our eldest Icelandic sheep, was looking like she wanted water, so I went to get her some. Next thing I knew, Tucker went whizzing by me and something soft hit me in the back of the head. At first it hadn't registered what he had, and I was trying to figure out what could have hit me. Then I snapped out of it. He had my partially knitted shawl in his mouth, knitting needles dangling out the sides, and the ball of yarn trailing behind him - that, by the way is what got me in the head. I'm not sure he reminded me more of a gigantic happy puppy with a new toy, or a enormous cat with a ball of yarn. I suppose that didn't really matter, because he was ripping through the field, jumping and kicking...with my yarn...unraveling in the dirt...the weeds...the grass...and yes, other stuff out in the field that I will not mention by name and pretend is also dirt.
There I was, chasing after Tucker, yelling, "Drop that yarn, Tucker, Malabrigo is expensive!" Gesh! Does he not know that one 440 yard ball of yarn he was trailing through the pasture not only cost me $18.99, but is also superwash Merino wool that was kettle dyed and from Uruguay??? I swear my heart still starts fluttering when I think about it. I also think I'm going to have flashbacks of the episode for weeks.
After Tucker had his fun, he dropped my knitting like a toddler with a toy that's guaranteed to give him hours of fun, and went back to eating. Figures. I was left with the aftermath. Do you have any idea what Malabrigo yarn looks like after it's been slung around a field? How about a partially knitted shawl that's been in a drooly horse mouth? I gotta tell ya, it ain't pretty. I picked off all the dirt that was pickable, wound it in a ball, and figured the best thing to do would be to wash it after I'm finished knitting the mitered portion of it that uses the Malabrigo yarn. Eventually the spit will dry.
After my knitting was cleaned up as best I could, I decided to go back to the house and get a plastic sandwich bag to put the dirty wet yarn ball in so I didn't have to touch it more than necessary. It was bad enough holding the spit filled partially knitted shawl. Not thinking about it, still in a daze from the ordeal, I left the yarn on my chair. When I got back, there was Tucker...nose all up in my knitting again. He kept at it, sticking his nose where it didn't belong, snuffling up all that Malabrigo goodness. When he wouldn't let up, even when it was in my lap in the plastic bag, which was fogging up due to all the wet yarn in the bag, I decided to give up. I'll work on the shawl another day after it dries...and not out in pasture.
So, there you have it folks. A true story. Really. I swear I don't make this stuff up. At least this time Hon was home and can bear witness to my ordeal. Smiling & Waving, Sharon
I'm the queen of our farm, although the animals haven't figured that out yet. My title is Head Chicken Wrangler, but most days I'm called Mom. Life is a comedy and I plan on documenting it.