Okay, Emily's done it again. I don't always blog my friend's patterns, even if I heart them. That's mainly because I just forget. But dude, go look at her sweater. If I wasn't loving knitting cables again, good old sturdy cables, I'd cast on for that, like, now.
Also, Nathania mentioned in Emily's comments that Emily looks like a Vermeer painting. I think that's just right. Isn't she purdy?
However, right now? I need big cables! I have lost patience for all else! It's the only kind of knitting making me happy right now. All this more than 5st/inch.... ack. Gives me a headachle. (Heh. Typo, but I like that.) Come spring, though, I'll be all over the fine knitting again, and I'll make Emily's lovely sweater. Something about fall approaching makes me want sturdy yarn, good definition, and no more than 4.5 st/inch. I'd admit to preferring 4st/inch, but that would make me look lazy, wouldn't it?
I wasn't really going to write about knitting. Whoops. What I meant to write about was going to the beach the other days with the you-know-whats.
There was this woman there, a nice, older woman. A sensible looking woman. Nice looking dog with her. My dog Clara ran up to the lady and said hi. She gave Clara a carrot.
NO! No feeding my dog without asking! And even then, I'll say no, because she's turned, recently, into this huge beggar dog, the annoying kind that smells a treat in a stranger's pocket and stands there, looking and demand-sitting, then nuzzling and pushing with her muzzle. Extremely not-okay behavior in my dog, so now no one is allowed to give her treats but me or Lala.
So this lady gave her a carrot. And then looked at me. I said, "Thank you, but no more, please."
She said, "Why not?"
I could have gone into the above discussion with her, how I don't want a dog that begs because that's a horrid trait, but I was feeling anti-social and didn't want to interact with humans. So I said, "She's allergic."
She said, "She can't be."
I said, "Carrots make her sick."
"That can't be. How is that? I don't believe that."
By then, of course, I was deeply invested in and believing my own lie, and offended that she would dispute the absolute truth I was making up. "Carrots give her diarrhea. She gets very, very sick. Violently ill." (This WAS just after Clara's mystery illness, and I was treating her tummy very carefully. That part is true.)
"No, they don't."
"Even one carrot will do it."
Then she shrugged, and I humphed, and we pretended to be polite about each others' mangy curs. I felt vaguely guilty about my lie.
It wasn't until much later that what I was feeling wasn't really guilt, but irritation. How are you gonna argue with someone about what their beloved pet is or isn't allergic to? Huh? I think I'll try that soon with a kid allergic to peanuts. I'll tell mom that the kid can't be allergic, that she must be wrong. That'll go over well.
This soccer-dog mom thing is making me protective. Grrr.