Not that I’m complaining, but it’s really hot here. It’s really, really summer-ish. If you’re in the UK, I’m so sorry, and I wish I could share some of this heat with you. I’d gladly trade it for a bit of rain, because the entire yard is brittle and dead, but I do love the heat.
This tired old lady, however, does not.
She looks pink because she’d just been shorn the day before and now she looks like a baby lamb. A huge baby lamb. But she finally stopped panting. As she gets older, she begins to tell me, with a lot of desperate shedding and panting, that she wants less hair. And also, a cave to crawl inside, to escape all the hubbub that happens in a houseful of people. She tells me this by getting behind or underneath anything and everything, knocking over tables and lamps and rearranging the furniture with her bulk in the process. Sweet thing, she’s too big.
So Dean and I built her this pup tent the other day, after I saw a picture of one like it in the July/August issue of Country Living (US edition). Ours is about 54” high, and about 28” wide, which is the width of the broken clothes-drying rack I had stashed in the event of needing some dowels for a project. [The benefits of having a huge barn are many.] He built the simple frame with wood scraps, securing them with bolts and wing nuts, and then I sewed the canopy, using a thrifted vintage sheet and a few lengths of grosgrain ribbon to secure it to the frame at the sides. Because the wood frame is bolted, the tent is removable for washing, and the whole thing can be collapsed flat and stored.
Of course, the dog spent the first few days eyeing it suspiciously, sniffing it tentatively, and then lying down, with a deep sigh and a clatter of elbows and collar tags hitting the wood floor, on the other side of the room.
Eventually, though, in the long warm light of afternoon, when I was thinking a nap would be nice, she was thinking the same thing, and so she crawled in there, circled a few times, and flopped down with a snort.