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Just call me Martha

February 25, 2008

Lucky is obsessed with these plush squeaky bones I get from PetsMart. They’re made of a hideous leopard/crusty, dried dog drool print and are obnoxiously loud. But only pizza brings her more joy, so we allow the toys.

They’re cheap – $3 – and hold up as you would expect a $3 toy would when it spends the bulk of its time in a dog’s mouth. She probably goes through one every couple of months (she’s small, OK?), but we find the occasional tear from the spot where she has ripped off the tag.

We’ve already determined that I’m a cheap-o. We’ve also previously determined how much I detest driving around here.

So what’s a girl to do with a dog who is happily ripping apart the polyester fill spilling out of her favorite toy?

I sew the hole. That’s right, I’m that cheap and that anti-traffic that I actually restuff and stitch up my dog’s $3 toy. I don’t know if that’s worse that sewing holes in socks, but I assume it’s pretty comparable.

The thing is, Lucky doesn’t like to “share” her toy with anyone. This means we have to fight with her to grab it just so we can throw it and continue playing fetch.

Imagine having to take that toy away and use a sharp object close to your sensitive fingers. She basically sits at my feet, shaking and whining, as she “waits” for me to finish. She’ll occasionally try to grab for it, but she hasn’t succeeded yet.

Somehow, I imagine I’ll be sewing up prized possessions for years to come. I guess I’d better get used to it.

Oh, and did I mention this is the extent of my sewing capabilities?

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