Remember this thing? I'm finishing it by Wednesday, my birthday. I'm finishing it, and then I'm not knitting anything with ribbon for the rest of the summer. I'm already a few rows into the back above the spit for the arms, so I think it's possible.
"Purpley!" said Daisy. "Hey, did you ever finish that grey top?"
"What grey top?"
"The one with the ribbon yarn."
"Yeah. I wore it last week. You saw it."
"No, not the one with the big stripes. The GREY one."
"We mustn't speak of it, lest we permanently damage our friendship. Change the subject. Change the subject now."
"Look! Over there! It's my puppy!"
"Good show, Daisy. No anger can stand when faced with the cuteness of the puppy."
"Except for Buddy's anger, of course."
"Stop bringing these beasts into our home, the Woman!"
"She's not going to live here, Buddy. She's just visiting."
"Oh, well then. The rationalizing makes it acceptable, does it? What if we say that I'm not going to permanently disfigure her, that I'm just going to lightly maul her. Does that make everyone happy?"
"Daisy, you might want to grab your puppy."
It'll only be a couple of weeks until she's too big for him to fight, but that doesn't mean he won't try. That's my Buddy. Territorial, pugnacious, and no ability to assess risk.