A Dog Bed for All
Me, Cat Wright, the lone cat person in a town populated with over-the-top dog lovers, in charge of acquiring dog beds for Barkview’s dog shelter had cat-astrophy written all over it. When the Quilter’s Club offered to help, I should’ve felt relieved. Too bad my go-to hemming technique relied on double-sided tape. Further complicating matters, our local centenarian, Paula “Pawprints” Powell chaired the group.
Don’t get me wrong. I like Paula, but the woman and her Corgi are definitely contrarians. Last month during a live interview when her latest book released, Paula hinted that she intended to share a “big secret”. Of course, I bit. Everybody knows that uncovering secrets is what drives me–the bigger the secret, the better. Unfortunately, after weeks of sniffing around for answers, I’d dug up nothing.
Frustration never makes for a comfortable afternoon, but I take my commitments seriously and arrived at Paula’s hillside, mid-century-modern home to find five vehicles already parked out front.
I took a calming breath as approached the porch. No need to ring the doorbell. A high-pitched bark announced my arrival.
“We’re in the dining room.” Paula’s voice came from somewhere down the hallway.
I entered the well-lived-in home overflowing with fragrant yellow roses and tripped. Not a catch-yourself-in-the-doorway kind of fall, either. Like a Torrey Pine, I lurched forward, landing with an unceremonious thud on the wood floor, eyelevel with the Corgi.
With a huff, the dog trotted off, his fluffy butt swinging with all kinds of attitude. Snubbed by an ankle biter?
I shook off that thought as Jennifer Moore, Barkview’s unflappable librarian, assisted me to my feet. One look at her tumbling messy bun and askew Cavalier apron, and concern set in. What was going on here?
“We’re way behind completing two hundred dog beds,” Jennifer announced.
“The shelter needs fifty.” I should know. I’d asked.
“Yours is one of many requests. We also supply area rescues and foster homes. The need seems to grow every day,” Jennifer explained.
“How many beds can you make?” This project was way bigger than I’d imagined.
“Depends on the amount of scraps we can gather. We’ve already tapped every local fabric store and sewing group we can find. We’ll need more to keep up.”
More of what I could only guess.
“Come see what we do. I’m hoping you can help.”
“Me?” My craftiness really needed to be limited to financial assistance.
I followed Jennifer into the shabby-chic cottage-style dining room. Two sewing machines hummed a busy-bee tune at each end of the banquet-sized table. In between, mounds of colorful fabric and giant black garbage bags bulging with who knew what waited for attention.
Paula, dressed in a gray smock and wearing a slouchy outback hat, directed the beehive of activity with military precision. “Start stuffing. We’re behind, girl.” She all but tossed me one of those garbage bags, knocking me backward.
“Geez.” The bag weighed like twenty pounds.
Jennifer smiled. “It’s filled with the little pieces of fabric leftover when people or companies sew products. Come on, I’ll show you what to do.”
Jennifer handed me a leopard printed smock that matched my signature neck scarf and led me to the table center where two women already crammed handfuls of those fabric pieces into various sized colorful pillowcases.
“Two sewists stitch the three sides of the bed. Two stuff, then the last two sew the bed closed,” Jennifer explained. “The beds are then bagged by size for delivery.”
“Enough jabbering, ladies. You’re bottlenecking the assembly line.” Paula’s voice worked like a whip. We went to work.
Hours later, my lower back barking and arms aching, I knew exactly how to help. As a reporter, I had a platform to get the word out. More sewists and fabric meant more comfortable dogs.
I looked at the neatly stacked beds and grinned. Two hundred dogs would have a warm place to sleep tonight thanks to the dedication of six special ladies. Who cared if they gossiped a little to pass the time? Every small town needed a story.
A Note from C.B.: Supporting rehoming animals has always been my thing. I started writing the Barkview Mysteries as a way to help connect the right animal with a loving family. When I met a group of quilters providing new dog beds to local shelters, it was a "what-can-I-do-to-help" moment. If you are interested in helping (sewing not required), please contact me directly at cbwilson@cbwilsonauthor.com. Together we can make a difference.
A Barkview Mystery, Book 5
The hunt for the elusive Douglas Diamond continues when Paula’s murder leads Cat to a tell-all-diary accusing a prominent political family of a cover up that strikes at the foundation of Barkview’s elite. Was the tale of the Douglas Diamond an elaborate hoax to hide an eighty-year-old conspiracy?
