In the Doghouse!
After Pettigrew’s deplorable actions yesterday, these were the headers I was contemplating for my blog post.
Yesterday, craving something sweet, jelly donuts preferably, I stopped in at a local bakery that caters to the large, Central American population in our neighborhood. I had been interested in it for years, but never had the chance to visit.
Alas, no donuts, jelly or otherwise, to be found. But who could walk out empty-handed from that sweetly scented store once I had spied glass displays showcasing thickly iced cakes, oversized cookies, twists bristling with granulated sugar, and sticky fillings oozing from the sides of sandwich cookies? Not I. Not when sugar was the missing element in my diet.
I exited with two paper bags and two cartons. A lovely haul.
Once home, I boiled water for a cuppa, took a sliver of three of the delicacies, and arranged them on a plate. Everything assembled for my indulgent repast, of course, my younger son phoned, ready to be picked up.
I pushed my plate of delicacies to the back of the counter, and, all being safe, headed out.
Arriving home the plate was on the counter. No pastries. No crumbs. I asked my older son if he had, perhaps, eaten them.
He claimed he had never even entered the kitchen.
Was it possible? Could Pettigrew have reached that high? Cleaned the plate and not dragged it to the ground?
After all I’ve done to help him right his stomach—most recently I added Kefir to his diet to repopulate the bacteria in his gut—he goes and eats my desserts! It was too much.
Of course, he has apparently suffered no ill effects from these dietary indiscretions. This morning, it was I who ended up crouching on the floor of the bathroom, my throat scrapped raw and all because I took some medicine without food! Apparently a clementine doesn’t count as food far as my digestive tract was concerned.
In this miserable state I spied a black and white muzzle poking through the crack in the door closely followed by two honey brown eyes. He stood there and took in the scene, ultimately concluding that his presence was needed. He slipped through the opening and joined me on the floor of the bathroom. All warm, furry, reassuring 55 lbs. of him. And stayed until the worst was over.
How could I be angry? The sins of yesterday were wiped clean. He was my own, loving and lovable ‘Grew again.
6 thoughts on “Wrapped Around A Furry Paw”
Not sure I would forgive him so easily!
Yes, I say with a knowing chuckle, it is easy for you to be comfortable in this belief that you would stand strong. You have not been subjected to the full force of Pettigrew’s charm. When he wants to be, I maintain, it is hard to deny him anything.
Oh no! That’s just not right all the way around! But I’m hoping that really it was just the slivers that he ate and that much remained in the paper bags and cartons. And I hope that your GI distress did not prevent you from a second go round at the treats.
Yes, it was just slivers and once I got over my *shock* I made a new plate of delicacies and enjoy it very much!
Sorry to hear about you being sick. Now I get why our library colleagues were asking you how you felt. I have to give Pettigrew credit. He skipped the meds you took and went directly to the sweets. Plus he knows the axiom better to ask forgiveness than permission. Sounds like he’s got your number, Ruth!
Oh my, yes, he has my number and a sweet tooth too apparently!