Woozy Waggies: Stuffed, Whiskered, and Bowed

And it's done.

My stuffing technique leaves a great deal to be desired. 

Even with newly narrowed seams and overly zealous seam grading, the ears are really hard to stuff. Not only are they tiny and already stuffed with seam allowances, but the stuffing has to travel up the front legs, through the neck, and around the head bend before finally reaching the ears. It's a bit awkward.

The whiskers may be overkill, but they disguise the mumps look I inadvertently gave the poor thing.

The pattern called for the whiskers to be cut out of wool, or alternately, yarn. I didn’t have any black wool yardage, nor could I find any black wool yarn, but I did have some black polar fleece that made a nice substitute.

The nose and eyes were supposed to be embroidered — yeah, right. Two faceted shank buttons give Scotty a blank yet steely-eyed gaze.

I did make a stab at embroidering the nose, the first time I’ve picked up an embroidery needle since I was nine and worked up a day-of-the-week tea towel. (Wednesday, Dutch girl, dreary household chore) While there wasn’t any embroidery floss, there was some black cotton yarn, in case I ever get ambitious enough to whip up this or this or this. I separated a strand, threaded up a huge needle to accommodate the still fairly thick yarn, and discovered that not only did the huge needle make huge holes in the fabric, the holes were so huge that stuffing exited along with the needle. (Have I sighed yet in this post?) Polar fleece to the rescue.

The pattern didn’t call for eyebrows, but I added them to balance out the whiskers. I’m not sure I like them. All that black is too much on a smallish toy. I think it would have worked better with a dark or patterned fabric, where the whiskers and eyebrows would have blended in instead of standing out so starkly. Next time, next time. The plaid bow is quite jaunty, though.

This version was just a trial, made to get a feel for the pattern. If the design gets a thumbs-up from the recipient, I’ll make it again, but only after substantially enlarging the pattern.

And even though it’s just a proto-Scotty, I do wish I’d done a little better job.

Woof.

Woozy Waggies: A Confusion of Limbs

“Now join front legs to body at G…”

Front legs, front legs, front legs. Where the hell are the front legs? Pick through remaining pieces. Check floor. Check under machine. Check under sofa (cat). Check original pattern. Note that piece “chin” is also piece “front legs.” Sigh.

This flat strip wraps around the dog’s face and chin, then continues down the neck and chest to form the front legs. The strip must turn two sharp corners, the chin and the neck.

Corners are easier to sew if the piece being turned is face up, so that the folds and excess fabric can be kept away from the needle. For added fun  —  the kind of fun only a Woozy Waggie can offer  —  one corner is face up and the other face down. I try to wing it and fail.

On the other side, I get smart and flip the fabric after sewing the first corner. I hate breaking up a seam, but I hate ripping out stitches even more.

Forming the two rear feet is a royal pain. The pieces are tiny, not much bigger than a large postage stamp, and the four sides are joined to four different body parts: the body, the rear legs, the underbelly, and finally, the crotch. On each foot, that’s four corners to turn, all in a very small space. There are seam allowances to deal with too, and I don’t know what to do with them. I still don’t know what to do with them.

Sewing the feet was a breeze compared to sewing the crotch. The even tinier, bias-cut crotch piece is supposed to “s-t-r-e-t-c-h” and form a V with the legs and belly. It stretches, all right. It also frays. And as to forming that V — sorry, no, not going to happen. In ripping out my shoddy first attempt, I discover that I’ve forgotten to reset the stitch length after staystitching with miniscule stitches. Resist temptation to throw something. Eventually, a wide U is formed and I call it good.

The misshapen, lumpy paws are good, too. It’s all good. Good, good, good.

The front paws are a snap and Scotty’s ready to stuff. The generous opening:

My aunt Fanny we’ll stuff that.

Well, maybe tomorrow.

Next: Buttons and bows (and stuffing)

Woozy Waggies: Under the Needle

Or, Frustration: 1, E: 0.

Sewing the tail together was an inauspicious start. Of course, I could have read the instructions first, but I keep confusing this pattern with another Scotty dog pattern that was sent at the same time. That pattern's instructions, such as they are, are printed hither and yon amidst the pattern pieces. The Woozy Waggies pattern has what passes as actual directions, contained in one location, though they’re rarely more explicit than “join E of body to E of face.”

Getting back to step 1. After correctly sewing and joining the tail to the Eiffel Tower-like back legs, the legs are sewn to the body.

It is at this point I realize I’ve cut two identical body pieces, rather than flipping the pattern piece to create mirror images. Luckily, there is a lot of fabric. With that minor annoyance taken care of, the back strip is joined to the body. The two pieces need to be stretched and clipped for a smooth fit. An experienced seamstress would know this; a beginner, relying on the pattern for instructions, would be SoL. (The seam was clipped after the photo was taken)

Now the real fun begins. The narrow face strip is about an inch longer than the body to which it is sewn.

Did I somehow miscut? Are my notches way off? Lining up the cloth pieces against the original pattern shows that everything is cut and marked correctly. The body is cut on the straight grain and can’t possibly stretch so much as to fit the face piece. As I stew over this, desperately wishing I had some beer, I read the instructions again. “Next join E of body to E of face. Whiskers may be inserted” blah blah blah “Next, join notches F of face and back, forming the ears.” No clue about the mystery inch in the directions. Stew, ponder, sigh, fret. Finally it dawns on me that the face strip wraps around the body to form the nose.

It seems obvious now, but it wasn’t at the time, and there are no procedural sketches or diagrams.

Using very short stitches, I staystitch both edges of the face strip in the nose area, just shy of the seam line, so that I can clip the turn without worrying about clipping too deep.

Pin, stitch, disaster. Because the pieces are so small, and because of the curves and stretching involved, pins aren’t enough to keep the fabric edges aligned, unless you want to use about 16 pins per inch. Hand basting is the only way to go. (Here, the small pieces are a blessing.) The pieces go together quickly, and if my blast-through-this-damn-piece pace obliterates Scotty’s brow bone — well, so be it.

As I join notches F to form the ears, or ears, I can’t help but notice that said ears are really quite tiny, quite tiny indeed.

Tiny enough that I know there’s no way in God’s green earth I’m going to be able to turn them inside-out. Rip stitches, sew a really narrow seam, trim as close as humanly possible, finger press, turn, and voila! Poke through tips and side seam with the trusty bamboo pointy thing. View lumpy, frayed ears with displeasure. Grit teeth.

At this point it’s obvious that the fabric I’ve chosen is a little too heavy to capture Scotty’s every winning detail. The fabric is a lightweight denim, far thinner than the velveteen or corduroy I’d envisioned for the final version. Still, I’ll forge ahead. This first go-round won’t be anything to write home about, but it’ll allow me to work out all the pattern quirks and puzzlements before committing to better fabric. And if I enlarge the pattern by 30% or so, it’ll give me a lot more room to work with. We want those ears turned on a dime, damn it!

Next: The Underbelly

Woozy Waggies: Big pieces into little pieces

At the mill, “make big pieces into little pieces” was the standard response to anyone who asked what we did. Thankfully, these big pieces are a lot easier to handle than slabs of Sitka spruce.

I'll start by transferring the Scotty's pattern pieces onto pattern tracing cloth.

Tracing cloth is great stuff -- it’s like a lightweight interfacing, sheer enough to see through yet far sturdier than tissue. Even though this reproduction pattern is printed on actual paper, I’m using the tracing cloth to preserve the pattern and because pinning and cutting through paper is a pain.

With that done, it's time to hunt through my fabric stash. Since this is just a test run, a muslin Scotty if you will, I shouldn't much care what the fabric is. But of course, I do. After rejecting patterns (no gingham dogs this time), denims (too denim-y), twill (why the hell do I have Lurex stretch twill?), some brown stuff (brown), and about 3,000 pounds of other pieces, I finally settle on a lightweight red denim. It's a nice big piece, 2 1/2 yards of 60" fabric. (What was I thinking? I don't even wear red!) The pattern calls for 1/3 yard of fabric, so I rip a generous foot, iron (I prewash fabric as soon as it comes home), and am ready to go.

Six of the 10 pieces are cut on the bias. Bleh. As I ponder how best to do this, my eyes fall on my big grid ruler, that -- Yes! -- has 45 degree markings. Sigh of relief. By placing a grid line parallel to the selvedge, laying the pieces on the bias is a piece of cake.

Chalk lines drawn parallel to the selvedge serve as a reference point for the next pieces.

Just a couple pins to hold each piece in place until I'm sure the layout is correct, then voila!

Done!

Next: Under the needle

Woozy Waggies: Part One

Behold the Woozy Waggie.

I did not name it. I did agree to make it.

"You can sew, right?"

Right.

"How hard would it be to make a stuffed animal? I have the pattern (wheedle, wheedle, wheedle)."

Well, let's see. Does it have bound buttonholes? Neck facings? Flat-felled seams? An undercollar, two-piece sleeves, a gusset?

I didn't think so. Sure, send it along.

The pattern arrives. I spend 10 minutes staring at the pattern-cum-instruction sheet, wondering how in God's green earth this is all going to come together. How do these weirdly-shaped hind leg and fore leg pieces become the slab-like paw structure? Are the round sole pieces simply decorative patches? Why does the face look so small? Why don't I simply turn the page over and realize I'm looking at two different patterns?

Oops. Ha ha. Along with Scotty is the woeful Scottie, who looks like she's about to be scolded for barfing on the satin bedspread again.

Now it makes more sense. Still, though, these aren't instructions from the Big 4. "Join J of rear feet to J of rear legs, then K of rear feet to K of body, then L of rear feet to L of under body..."

No diagrams, no illustrations.

I think it's best to cull the scrap pile for Scotty.

And yet, how hard can it be? It's a child's toy, a stuffed dog. I taught myself to build cabinets based on the laughable notion that making cupboards isn't much different from making a blouse (measure, cut, construct). If I can make drawers — nice drawers! — I can make Scotty.

Sure can.

Next up: Tracing the pattern, cutting the pieces