Yesterday my mom decreed that we should go for a walk. I see more walks in my future as my mom has been indulging in hot cross buns from Dahlia bakery, sinfully delicious and made just once a year, on Easter weekend. Now she wants to go on extra walks to compensate.
As usual, there is no justice in this world for dogs. Did I get even one bite of a bun? No way. Muffins and treats are off limits to dogs in our house. To be fair, they’re usually off limits to the mom, but she believes in species-appropriate treats, judiciously shared.
My mom won’t allow me to discuss religion or politics on my blog. But isn’t there some church out there that believes it’s sinful to refuse to share with your dog? If so, I have a mom who could use some conversion. I suspect her friend Bill from New York would belong to such a church, if it exists.
“Forget it, Gracie,” my mom said.
Memo to self: If you ever get adopted again, choose an owner who can’t read dog minds.
“Gracie,” my mom continued, “if you eat even a few bites of this bun, you will get sick. You will keep us both awake all night. You might have to miss your run with your Aunt Sara — and that is the highlight of your week.d”
Memo to self: Never choose an owner who studied logic.
It’s a moot issue, of course. I doubt I’ll ever be in a position to choose another owner (although if I steal a hot cross bun the question — and some voices — may be raised). And if anything happens to Cathy, she wants me to go to her friend Bill, who believes spoiling your dogs should not be reserved for Sundays and holidays. No argument from this dog.