One Sewer's Best Friend*

Hamlet approaches famed cloud wall.
Hamlet poses with foster mother wearing sleeveless top she knitted.
Hamlet poses behind foster mother as she shows off her back.

Dear Hamlet,

You've been here what - three full days? Boy, what an adventure it's been already, from the moment your human mother collapsed outside my apartment and had to be shipped off to the emergency room post-haste on that incredibly hot Monday late afternoon. Thankfully, nothing was seriously wrong with your mama that a glass of water or two or three wouldn't cure. And then I had to abandon you almost right away to go to my last French class. I'm terribly sorry. And to think that I was afraid that you would chew on my BCBG Girls, Franco Sarto boots, Natural Comfort wedgies, and 1940s slingbacks while I was away, I do apologize. I also feared that you would dig your nose in the kitchen garbage basket, and for that too, I am contrite. You also probably noticed I hung a garbage bag on a shower curtain hook in the bathroom, and you didn't even bother to check that room out. Not once from what I can tell.

I hope you don't think I'm a bad parent if I go off for hours. I felt bad yesterday went I walked off to Dunkin Donuts before even thinking take you out for your first bathroom break. Yet you didn't take it personally. You didn't take revenge and do damage. For that, I'm utterly and completely grateful.

I hope you don't mind that I don't want you spending the entire day on my bedroom rug and nudge you out into the living room accordingly. I do wish you would spend more time on what appears to be an expensive orange and pink cushion from Target that your mommy left behind for you. It's nice and soft, much more so than my at least 10-years-old mattress that I dearly want to replace sometime soon.

I'm also a bit concerned that you're not eating much. Mom tells me you need to drink more water so your body functions properly. At your age, 11 years young, you need to think about that. Not that I ponder my own chronology. I'm not one to say, "Oh, I'm falling apart!" just becomes my right thumb is arthritic and my bunion hurts like hell after I traipse even a few blocks to the abovementioned coffee shop in my Mias. I mean, a touch of arthritis in one part of my body is perfectly normal, right?. Even a toddler can say, "Oh, my achy knee!" am I right? Besides, tween-ager ballet dancers get bumps on their feet too. Anyhow, I hope you're not feeling your age when you have to go up two flights of stairs just to get home. The first flight is hard enough. I can only imagine what you think you see that second flight. "I don't know how I'm going to make it up there!" but you do and I'm so very proud of you (which reminds me you deserve a treat, which is atop my refrigerator).

I also want you to know that I've been bragging about you. I tell my friends, "He doesn't bark! Well, only once at another dog outside." And to think you startled me the other day when you changed positions while you were napping behind me in the office. You're a perfect canine - you're easy-going, quiet and polite. Why would I ever want a child when I got you? I wish I could see you blush, but it's probably not possible with all that fur on your face.

You've probably noticed that big white plastic box on my desk. That's my sewing machine. I know I've hardly turned it on while you've been here. I haven't been as motivated these days since I've been spending too much time almost all by my lonesome. So if I turn it on, don't be afraid. It won't come after you. It's not a vacuum machine, which by the way, I don't turn on often enough as you can see by the growing groups of dust-mites in my place. I'd say become friends with the dust-mites, but they might make you sneeze. So you're probably better sleeping as much as you do and simply befriending your nocturnal, other-world friends (what do you dream about anyway?).

When you're awake, don't be afraid to look out the window, but I certainly would be freaked out if you barked at the birds. My late cat Freaky liked to stare out at the robins and the sparrows and do that odd "I want winged creature" half-purr. Now, she had accidents, which was a major reason why I won't babysit felines right now. I'm done with the "I need a cat sleeping on my leg" stage of my life, for now.

We will go on longer walks, I promise. It would probably help with your overall health to do so. I'm not sure how far we can walk given that going up and down the stairs is an issue. It would be nice to at least be able to walk here, where I can show you off to fellow canine owners. Now if you're up to the task, Hamlet (by the way, how did you get your name? I haven't had a chance to ask your mom), perhaps you could facilitate a meeting between a cute, nice single doggie owner (or walker) while we're out and about. I'm not sure if you're match-maker, but you're are, I'm giving you a major hint, ok?

I'm not sure what else to say. I'm not the best letter writer, but I hope you enjoy your stay in this doggie hotel, Hamlet, whether it's two weeks or two months. I do want you and your mommy to re-unite one day in the near future. I love happy, Hallmark endings, but I won't cry at commercials for that card company because I'm not an emotional pregnant woman, just as a cynical singleton, ok? But I might shed a few salt-water tears if you leave. Oh dear, why am I thinking about that now? Perish that thought!

Love and Kisses, Mary Beth
* Folks, the top is from the Knit.1 green issue, Summer 2007. If had to do it over again, I'd make it up in a stretchier, bouncier yarn than the 100 percent cotton fiber I used. Still adorable even if I do have to tug it up every five seconds or so.