White Dog watched as I opened my grandmother's dilapidated old pink sewing basket, selected a needle and squinted as I threaded it. I had a button to reattach to Steve's hiking shorts and a torn pocket to mend. She disappeared as I started to sew and reappeared moments later carrying Lambie. She set the stuffed toy at my feet and once again left the room. Next Star was brought in and added to the pile and was followed by armadillo and finally a bee. I finished tying the knot, cut the thread from the new button and buttoned the newly repaired shorts. I looked up at White Dog sitting expectantly beside her pile of stuffies. She nosed bee forward in answer to my questioning look and suddenly I got it! In White Dog's world the appearance of the sewing basket meant one of her stuffies was in need of repair and that the animal hospital was open.
Now that she is a more mature girl, White Dog seldom tears her toys to shreds as she once did but apparently the fix-it memory was strong. "Let's take a look," I suggested as I reached for bee. One by one I thoroughly examined each toy as she waited patiently for the pronouncement that each was fine. When I found a slight seam split on lambie, White Dog moved closer and watched intently as I sutured the wound. When I was done, I held it out for her to inspect. She sniffed it thoroughly and turned it over and over in my hand...then White Dog gently took lambie, moved to the center of the room and gave it the ultimate test...the Shake It! Kill It! Dance. I returned to Steve's mending.