Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Tennis courts

"Okay Orion, the plan is this," I say after being woken up to scratching on my face. Orion mistook my face for the path to China, but all was forgiven once the consciousness surfaced and I realized our nap had turned into 2 hours. "We're going to go down to the tennis courts. I'm going to bundle up cause it's freaking cold. You're going to run around and do dog stuff. I'll pack your tennis ball, but I'm going to knit. I have to get this scarf done by the 17th. Questions?" Orion blinks up at me. I roll over, tossing the feet to the ground, search my room for adequate clothing. Currently my house looks like a wind storm came in and threw my clothes like debris in a tornado. That and bits of paper shreds littered about make for a house for which Martha Stewart would be proud. I find enough layers to suit my New England intelligence at dressing warmly and out the door we go into the three day consistent drizzle.
Down at the tennis courts, I fasten the doors closed and he's off, chasing the tennis ball. I meander to the bench, pull my coat so that it covers my butt from the wet seat, and settle in for some quality knitting. Knitting with gloves on seems a touch more than my skill set I soon discover, and so I hop up, track down the abandoned tennis ball and give it a toss. Yellow lab goes flying after it, goofy as hell with his ears flopping up and down. My phone rings and I answer, tucking it into my wool hat. Ah, it is my best friend. I'm happily chatting, kicking the tennis ball, watching Orion intermittently chase, then ignore the ball to quest for food particles that magically might show up in the leaves against the fence.
"You're kidding, you got in a bike accident? Are you okay?" I'm noting the humor of having moons and stars poke out from my fancy thrift store jeans. Gotta love the adapted thermals, aka, pi's. I look up in time to see Orion flopping towards me.
The bright green knitting needle is cockeyed in his mouth. He freezes, crouches down. He thinks this is a game.
"ORION LEAVE IT." I sternly say, excusing myself from my friend on the line.
He shakes his head. The ball of yarn spills out of the bag.
"O-R-Y-O-N!" I stretch each syllable as I march closer.
He bolts. My ball of yarn rolls into the puddles. I watch the line of yarn grow longer and longer. Orion loops back and suddenly he has the yarn wrapped around his ankles. I make a grab for him.
"Oh no, no, no."
This scarf has been through the ringer. Orion already jumped on the table to get the bag so that he could eat the graham crackers I had also left in the bag with the scarf so that I had to pick crumbs out of the scarf for weeks.
"STAY STILL," I demand.
I untangle his legs. Dislodge the knitting from his mouth. Wind up the soggy wet yarn.
"When are you going to cease driving me bat-shit crazy?" I ask.
He saunters off.

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