Sunday, July 19, 2009


Last night I made dinner twice.

Damn dog.

While Tillamook's Special Reserve Extra Sharp Cheddar melted over the sizzling bean and grain burgers, I carefully spread mayo and salsa on 2 and half toasted whole grain buns. A sprinkling of lettuce and they readily accepted the warmth of wholesome black bean patties. Two Bartlett pears sliced, then divided among the plates. Water glasses filled and arranged around our little table alongside each plate. Dinner was ready, looking equally pretty and delicious.

I was hungry.

My daughter, however, was entrenched in the clever plot of the Leap Frog Letter Factory, and I knew the pleasant dinner I envisioned was certainly more likely if I didn't pull her away before X, Y, and Z. So I snuggled up with my golden-haired cutie and quickly read a chapter of my book while awaiting the final bars of "Every Letter Makes a Sound" to be complete.

Just as I suspected, with the movie over, Madelyn made her delightful way toward the kitchen calling for her daddy: "Gehhhweeee (Gary), dinner ah weddy! Come on!"

When we emerged from the hallway to look upon my lovely, nutritious feast, I immediately noticed one glaring difference from the scene I had left there a few minutes previously. A minor thing, really. Each plate remained innocuously centered atop its place mat. It was just that these plates, upon which I had carefully arranged our dinner, were now EMPTY. This I could see from my vantage point 25 feet away. No evidence of the mass destruction that had recently--and very quietly--taken place remained. Nothing but crumbs.

My heart sank as I loudly groaned, "" Even before I took 3.2 seconds to scan the room, looking for some evidence that maybe I was indeed insane and had not in fact cooked dinner and set this very table, I knew that the dinner I was anxious to devour now sat barely chewed in the pit of Loki's ravenous stomach.

From the other room, my husband grew very concerned and ran out to see why I was so distraught. I showed him the empty plates and effectively pointed at the abominable Siberian Husky licking his guilty chops a few feet from the table. His sister had been lying on the bed with Madelyn and me, so there was NO QUESTION about the culprit's identity.

I had to allow myself a few minutes to just be angry before I could re-make our entire meal. There wasn't enough left to feed us all, but thankfully I had cooked all four burgers (intending to have leftovers). So I sliced more expensive cheese, reheated the patties, prepared take-2 of the buns, and we all shared one and a half bean and grain burgers and the one remaining pear. Actually, my sweetheart allowed me to eat the whole burger and took a few bites of Madelyn's half plus fixed some leftovers from the fridge. How generous!

This morning I only fed Loki half of his usual breakfast. Despite what I might wish, I know he will not make any connection between his paltry serving size and last night's despicable behavior. But I figure that his naughty binge provided plenty of additional calories. And I felt only slightly satisfied with my act of righteous indignation.

Alas, I still love the damn dog.

Zeroing in on a half-eaten PB&J at Donner Memorial
June 30, 2009

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