Monday, May 12, 2014

Green Dinosaur Taquito

When Schroeder first moved in with us in 2012, it didn't take him long to fall in love with Hand-Knit Green Dinosaur Finger Puppet. His affair is documented herehere, and here.

That summer, Schroeder lost Green Dinosaur. After an appropriate period of consternation, his affections turned to Hand-Knit Carrot--tentatively at first, and then with growing devotion.

When Carrot subsequently disappeared, Schroeder was again agitated. We learned that you can't just replace one carrot with another; cats have standards. My mom knitted us two new carrots, and after holding out for the return of First Carrot for a few weeks, Schroeder finally gave up and latched onto one of the new ones.

Having suffered through two lost kitty cozies, we now know to search the house when Preferred Carrot disappears; we've successfully kept track of it for over a year. We thank my mom for knitting a supply of spares to keep on hand, and we always keep at least two carrots in the kitty-toy cycle--Preferred Carrot and Carrot-In-Training. We've tried other finger puppets, but Schroeder will not play fetch with them (although we'll sometimes wake up to a collection of puppet rejects--Blue Dolphin, Green Frog, and Unfavored Carrot--scattered around S's shoes in our bedroom).

In February, following the Great Purge, as we were prepping the study walls for painting, S found Green Dinosaur behind a radiator, covered with dust bunnies. Schroeder was in heaven. Preferred Carrot had been fine, but Green Dinosaur was his first love.

It did not take Schroeder long to love Green Dinosaur nearly to death, pulling stuffing out of a growing hole in its belly and unknotting the yellow stripe of yarn on its back.

I pushed the stuffing back in and sewed the hole closed with a piece of green thread. The surgery gave Green Dinosaur a curled up fetal look, but Schroeder didn't care.

The repair job held up through another month of loving, during which Schroeder ripped open two more large holes. Green Dinosaur was a few strands of yarn away from decapitation and needed more than my limited skills could offer. I called on my friend N, a knitter, for aid.

Two days later, N had worked her magic. She said she couldn't knit Green Dinosaur back together, so she made it a tiny tube of a sweater instead: Green Dinosaur Taquito. Schroeder sniffed Taquito's head and tail, puzzled but intrigued, as though recalling sweet memories of a distant dinosaur dream. We have high hopes that the love affair will continue.

Green Dinosaur died,
Came back as a taquito:
New life through knitting.

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