Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

One of my favorite things in the whole world is a twelve-point-star afghan my mom crocheted for me. It’s beautiful and soft and warm.

And ruined.

The pup has been paying extra-special attention to one of the points. I’ve taken the blanket away from him several times, telling him, “No.” Yesterday, we were playing video games all day, me with the blanket, Lemur and I sharing the love seat, pup between us. I was not paying attention to Pup, other than grinning when he curled up between us. Our old dog hated video games and wanted to be far, far away from us when we played.

At about wave 20, pup started hacking and coughing, some yarn still caught in his teeth.

“What are you chewing on?” Lemur asked.

My blanket, folks. He chewed through a point of my blanket star. Fortunately, it’s a color block pattern, so I can tear out the two ruined color strands and redo them, if I can figure out the pattern. Otherwise, I’ll have to take it home and beg my mom to fix it.

I am grateful to have a dog. I am. I would be completely fucking insane without him.

However . . .