Food is one of the joys of life.
For years my family embraced this philosophy, tucking treats into my bowl. Sharing morsels from the cutting board and grill.
Filling their pockets with bars that sustained me on long walks or when I was managing an especially stressful situation, say an encounter with a mail truck.
And then there were those unexpected, unanticipated moments on our walks when we met one of our friends and I watched with bated breath as they dipped their hand into a pocket or pouch and shared some of their treats with me.
Or when Daddy would cook and in his exuberance, morsels would fly through the air, landing in front of my nose. It always paid to stay close when Daddy was at the stove.
Alas, those days are gone. Suddenly, without any warning, I was cut off. Offered the same fare day in and day out.
Cutting boards are cleared without my getting a sample of the wares.
Grills are fired up. Delectable smells issue forth. I join them outside. I keep them company. What do they do? They pretend I am not there.
When we encounter our friends on walks they tell them, just love, no treats. Since when do you get to speak for me?!
Yes, yes of course I enjoy a good pat. I’ll never say no to that, but to the exclusion of treats! No! It is blasphemy to equate the two. Where did this terrible idea originate?
So, I take matters into my own paws. I have learned to prop myself on the edge of the sink so I can lick the cutting board propped against the edge.
Nuzzling under the grill cover I slide out the drip pan and shake out its contents. A bit blackened. Certainly not their best culinary effort. But a tasty diversion none-the-less.