Wednesday evenings I spend with Mom. We have hamburgers, watch our shows and knit while Dad is out playing with trains.
So, last night I get to the house, grab my purse and the knitting bag out of the car and head in. I tangle with the wildly enthusiastic cocker spaniel who greets me at the door, set down my purse, and find that I have yarn wrapped around my knees. Sock yarn. Wool and silk sock yarn. From the socks I was planning to work on.
I follow the yarn out the door. Down the steps. Down the walkway. Down the driveway.
Sitting in the (only slightly damp) gutter is one ball of burgundy wool-and-silk (KnitPicks Gloss to be precise) sock yarn.
Fortunately, it was a mostly dry gutter, and a mostly dry evening and the sock yarn dried by the time dinner was over. It is now part of a mostly finished pair of socks from the Knitting Vintage Socks book.