Weaving Crackers

Recently, while my stash of post it notes still sit in storage, (not digging this writing off the cuff stuff) I became friendly with a lovely woman who was quite down to earth. She is a weaver. We met by chance. She was living nearby temporarily, and came by almost every night to give my dogs belly rubs if we were outside. She began to tell us about herself while my dogs looked up, on the backs and smiled at her. She had once upon a time lived in Alaska, which I am always in awe of, but not sure I could do just that. She told a story about how she and her (just obtained) rescue dog were out doing some sort of skiing. I presume if was similar to cross county skiing of some sort, but more adapted to the Alaskan wilds. The rescue dog was not only rescued by her, but it was also a RESCUE dog- as in a Bloodhound. She came upon a man who didn’t quite know what he was doing out there (by himself I might add) and he did something foolish to upset this new dog of hers and the dog bit him, drew blood even! They exchanged info, she was quite responsible about the whole thing, knowing that she didn’t have all the appropriate paperwork on the dog yet- such as a Rabies certificate. The man never contacted her and the dog never showed signs of Rabies and is still alive this day. Thankfully everyone was lucky in that situation. After a while things didn’t work out for her in Alaska for various reasons and she packed up her bags and dogs and moved back to the Mainland. I can’t even begin to think of all the work it would be to move from Alaska back to the continuous states with a Bloodhound and a couple of other dogs. (By herself) I’m having trouble moving the next state over with two somewhat small dogs and a husband!
The weaver also told another story which made me feel a lot better as we prepare our house to be sold. One of her hounds had tipped over a full can of white paint, which she left open at the top of the stairs. Yup, it went all the way down them! Her dachshund then decided that it would be a fine time to investigate the mess on the stairs. Poor mom came back to discover this mess. The little guy never got any on his feet, but his tummy was covered! I loved hearing all of her stories and she gave me permission to share them in the tale that I am weaving.

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