I’ve had this afghan for most of my life. In fact, I think I’ve had it for four-fifths of my life. My sweet mother made it for me when I was a wee lad, and it’s stayed with me ever since. (Okay, I think it went off to college with #1 Son, but when it came home, it stayed with me.)
All of the dogs I have ever known and loved (except for my very first dog, Touche) have slept on it. Scout. Precious. Whimsey. Max. Now Queequeg and Flike. Out at the cabin, where the afghan now resides, it’s a favored sleeping place for little Queequeg. On cold sleep-over nights, he prefers sleeping on top of it rather than snuggling under the covers with us.
I’ve made a conscious effort to prevent the Cabin at the End of the Road from becoming a repository of my life’s junk. There have been plenty of cabins and second homes I’ve seen that have accumulated all of the clutter of their owners’ lives: spare furniture, knick-knacks, spare this, and the extra that, decorations too ghastly to display at home, and so on. I don’t want my cabin to become that way. (Besides, we Westerners tend to have too many “things” anyway.) Thus I try to be careful about what makes it to my cabin and what I’ll allow to remain there. This blanket with its many uses and many memories is something that belongs there.
Also, speaking of things worth keeping around for a long time, Happy Birthday, FC!