Ray and the Roving

It was my fault, really. We'd had a good day. We'd gone for a walk (Ray heeled the whole time). Ray got a new bone. I went shopping. Ray took a nap on Gregg's chair. Everything was fine. 

Roving Scattered Around the Hallway

Gregg came home and we sat on the front porch talking about our respective days. I told him I had invited Kirsten, our neighbor, over for Margaritas and was going to go over to get her. We couldn't have been on the porch for more than five or ten minutes. I opened the door and there was Ray surrounded by roving (unspun wool, for those of you who aren't woolaholics) with the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. I hated to be the kill joy but I "Bah"ed, grabbed his collar, and put him outside. Then I started to laugh. It was just so funny. 
That's a dog after my own heart. Obviously, wool is in his genes. It's my fault, I shouldn't have left it in a basket in the family room. I should have left it upstairs with the cats. They don't know wool from nothing. 

Counting sheep