My brother-in-law’s spirited young dog had been fascinated by the yarn in my lap. Despite the dye, perhaps he could smell something of the sheep, or maybe he just liked the way it moved when I knit. He kept trying to eat it, and we had a couple of close calls.
At one point, we lost track of him. It turned out he had opened the plastic bin in the other room where I keep my yarn and was now tearing around the house with the yarn in his mouth, victorious at last. Hilariously, he had grabbed the same color I was using.
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