Greetings

Yesterday evening I was in my usual spot, seated at my trusty 1949 Singer, making place mats, because somehow, after moving half way across the country, I can't find any of the several hundred thousand I thought I had. I have my sewing room set up in the basement (not my choice, but it's the only space available right now), and it was only a matter of minutes before I heard the sound I knew was coming. Nails on stair tread. Specifically, dog nails on stair tread. Even more specifically, the sound of the Mad Australian Shepherd's nails on stair tread.

I think it's the sewing machine. He hears "that sound" and knows I am there for a while, and he can camp at my feet and pretend he's not in the way. He can shed hair on the floor (ask me how often I vacuum) and he can find the absolutely perfect place, the one that is directly in line with the ironing board and that requires me either to step over him or step on him. Apparently, both are huge signs of affection. The Mad Australian Shepherd knows that quilting cannot take place without his keeping me company. I'm beginning to enjoy his.