What a pleasure to knit up Olive's new dog coat. (For those just joining the program, it's the Give-a-Dog-a-Bone Coat from Debbie Bliss's book, Woolly Woofers
.) The only bit that gave me the slightest trouble was doing the shaping for the neck straps, and that was because we were talking on the phone and I kept losing track of where I was.
(The yarn is a cushy, crisp worsted weight from Jill Draper Makes Stuff, but I've mixed up my labels and am not sure which yarn.)
Last weekend, I laid the coat out to dry and thought: what kind of Pokemon is this? (Isn't it crazy that Pokemon are back? What's next: Beanie Babies?)
Debbie instructs that the bone appliqué on the back of the coat should be made by cutting a bone shape out of a piece of suede (which apparently is a thing that people can just do without further guidance). She also tells the knitter to line the coat with a piece of fabric, and to use "hook and loop" to secure the neck and belly straps on the dog. (This puzzled me for a minute, until I realized that "hook and loop" is to Velcro what "gelatin dessert" is to Jello.)
I thought about all these non-knitted parts of this little knitted coat. This I know: if I put off the bone-making, lining, or fastening parts of this project for very long, it will forever remain a Pokemon-shaped textile, and eventually run up against a future Kon Mari Event. So I have to act quickly.
Step one: the bone. I did not have a free-floating piece of suede or leather handy. I entertained the idea of chopping up a bag or other unloved leather good, but didn't want to go off on that tangent, which could possibly lead to a sacrifice I might later regret. In the comments to my previous post on this coat, the idea of a fabric bone, in tweed, came up. Good news! I have tweed!
I have quite a lot of tweed, actually. Most of this yardage was a gift from a friend in England, Wendy Baker, who heard I liked woven wools and presented it to me one day. That piece in front, though, is the last remnant of a bolt end I bought from the wonderful Guy Hills, proprietor of Dashing Tweeds
in London. Guy designs his own tweed fabrics which are woven in Scotland and made into dreamy, jaunty garments for a clientele that likes to look dashing, particularly at cycling events such as the Tweed Run
. This fabric, therefore, has reflective threads woven into it. I had most of it made up into flash sofa cushions--they literally flash when light hits them in the dark--but there is plenty left for a safety-tweed bone and lining for Olive's wee coat--solving two problems at once.
It even has matching red threads. I'm well pleased. It's time to cut out a bone shape, order up some hook and loop, and get to work.