Good. Had I not had a long session with the seam ripper today, I would be showing you the COMPLETED Savannah Satchel. Alas…maybe tomorrow.
Instead, I want to tell you what happened the other day. My grandpa – my mom’s dad - died on Friday. I have been extraordinarily lucky to have had all four of my grandparents well into my adulthood–even my daughter has had them to an age when she can remember them well. This loss was especially hard for all of us.
But a strange thing happened the day Grandpa died. We grew up with Boston terriers. He raised Boston terriers for a while. To us, there was no other kind of dog to have–Bostons were the best. I see more and more of them around my little town, but where my parents live, they are fairly uncommon.
I was on the phone with my mom in the evening when a stray dog came up on her porch. Do you know what kind of dog it was? A stray Boston terrier appeared on her porch. It had a collar. It appeared well cared for and was very well behaved. My parents walked it around the neighborhood in hopes that the dog would lead them somewhere or someone would be out looking for this little dog.
No one recognized it. They took it back home. At this time of day, the animal shelter was closed, but a police officer came and picked up the dog and took her to the animal shelter for the weekend. After the funeral on Monday, we called to check on the dog. No one had called to claim her by the afternoon.
Where in the world did this little dog come from and where does she belong? Assuming no one claims her this week during her “stray” period, I’d like to think I know where she belongs.