The day started just like any other day. I had carved out some time to design and shape some copper sheet metal and then patina the pieces with liver of sulphur. I never know just exactly what color the patina will produce due to varying factors including water temperature, amount of product, whether or not a piece has been torched, etc. On this particular day, everything was working well. I liked the color produced and was pleased at its richness when I took it out of the tumbler. If you aren’t used to this process, I use a rock tumbler to remove the excess grime created by the liver of sulphur and to polish the pieces. The tumbler is partially filled with steel shot, a drop of liquid detergent and water. The shine it produces is largely a product of the length of time a piece tumbles. Following the tumbling, I pour the tumbler contents into a metal kitchen strainer in order to rinse the pieces without losing any of the shot. I then place the strainer on the top shelf of my laundry room work cabinet. That’s what set the stage for trouble.

As I continued my clean up process, our exuberant 3 1/2 month old puppy raced into the laundry room for his food.  He spied the strainer, leapt up and grabbed it and then we were both showered with flying shot. I tried hard not to yell at the little guy, but when I got the broom to sweep up the shot, he kept grabbing it and trying to run away with it. (I’m thinking of rewriting the nursery rhyme to read “the DOG ran away with the BROOM) Picture a little black and white puppy scurrying down the hall with the broom head in his mouth dragging the handle. That was the end of my patience. Slipping on the rolling shot, I managed to grab the puppy by the collar and drag him out to his pen. Then I set out to sweep the shot. Sound easy? When I tried to sweep part of the shot, it would quickly roll to the other side of the room. Eventually, I put up little shoe barriers to catch it as it rolled. That shot was everywhere . . . under the washer, under the dryer, under the freezer, behind the sink, in the shoes, in the boots, buried in the rugs and even in my apron pockets. Two days later, I’m still finding shot - - - puppy shot!

Just so you won’t worry, let me say that I did not shoot the puppy. That’s just the new name for what I put in the tumbler. By the way, this is the same puppy who while waiting inside the running car while the trash was emptied from the car into the container on the street managed to lock one of us out of our own car. He’s such a good little fellow!