~ THWOP! Goes the cardboard taco ~
Have you ever found yourself in the middle of an undesirable situation. A highly uncomfortable circumstance that you wish you had never experienced?
As I stood there in the midst of one of those events, my mind tried to wander back through the trail of various four-legged moments that had brought me to this point.
Frozen in time (in my mind), I doubt more than one or two seconds actually went by according to the two-legged’s dial on the wall. Understanding that I wasn’t really going to solve this riddle under the pressure of Dad’s glare, and my own confusion mixed with a canine form of shame, I retreated slowly down the hall to where any philosopher worth his salt reposes while sifting through “reason and evidence.”
The bed. Back against pillows. Curled in a tight circle. Thankful that the curtains were closed against the cold constant wind assailing the room’s outer wall. I felt very small, and very alone, the occasional howl of the wind seemed to emphasize my personal dreary frame of mind.
The day had started out in normal fashion, the three four-leggeds encouraging Mom to rise and greet the day, long before dawn. The satisfaction of full tummies and empty bladders, returning to bed to encircle Dad, listening to Dad complain he couldn’t turn over while trying to shift Keira’s non-cooperative body weight. Very normal stuff.
Later, up and out to do a full backyard scan for the scent of any small animal intrusions. Tuck watching the hill for his bunnies. Keira trying to secretly scoop up one of the small soft “pine cones” from under the tree, and Dad asking in mid-scoop, “What do you have in your mouth Keira?” Keira then spitting out her temporary prize and padding over to Dad, tail wagging. All normal and routine.
Afternoon came, and I did my normal musings away from the pack, in the bedroom by myself.
There was a sudden waking, and collective high-speed appearances when we heard Dad’s truck keys being retrieved. Always hopeful and full of optimism, we watched Dad prepare, (coffee, wallet, watch, house keys, stick of gum…), and waited to see if he gathered harnesses, collars, leashes, seat-belt clips, extra water, water bowl. No such luck this time.
I stayed near the door to listen to the truck drive away, but Dad suddenly reappeared and blew past me twice (forgot phone), and then he was gone. And that’s where I think my day kind of went off the rails.
I sooooo wanted to believe he came back for me, to take me for a ride in my limo. When he came back in and shot right back out, hardly acknowledging me, I remember my normally sunny mood evaporated. Instead of waiting in the living room for his return, I tried to find solace in my solitary place.
I halfheartedly headed to the front door at Dad’s return and intended to sulk further until I saw what Dad was carrying (carefully) with two hands. A BIG crust circle! I believe hoomans call them pizzaz.
Dad cautiously placed the saran wrapped-cardboard encircled-not-yet-baked-crust circle on the counter and turned on the oven. He then methodically sought the leading edge of the saran wrap, and with several false starts and some unintelligible exclamations, managed to unwrapped the big circle of soon-to-be-baked crust enhanced ambrosia.
Pizzaz crust and I go way back to when Dad and I were on the road. Since he wasn’t allowed to leave me alone in the hotel rooms, Dad would usually skip his dinner. At some hotels though, he could get crust circles delivered to the room. Some of my fondest memories were Dad and I reveling together over a hot meal. Aside from the legendary “San Felipe Breakfast Burritos” of the past, pizzaz crust is a foretaste of heaven. I’m sure of it.
Dad left the kitchen, parked on the couch, and began to fiddle with his mini moron’s magnet, (phone).
I felt it was important to stand guard in the kitchen and keep the pizzaz company. The oven sure was taking a long time to beep. I wondered, maybe something was wrong. It seemed like the logical thing to do would be to simply raise up a bit. Enough to place my front paws on the counter and, you know, just look around to make sure everything is OK.
Suddenly, there I was, muzzle one little inch from that wonderful, delightful, and oh-so-tempting circle of culinary genius. Maybe, if I just pull on the cardboard edge, just a little bit, that would speed up the whole process, and we could all be enjoying it all that much sooner. At that moment it felt like the whole world, the kitchen, the living room, Dad, all faded away to just me and my altruistic intention to help.
Then…I completely lost my mind.
With my front teeth gently secured on the edge of the cardboard disk the pizzaz was resting on, my nose found itself in an irresistible place. The white sauce, the chicken, the baby spinach leaves…it all seemed to call my name, and without hesitation I answered back by giving the cardboard a hard pull, hoping to hear it call my name again as it hit the floor.
I hadn’t counted on the loud “SLAP” the pizzaz made upon it’s landing. Instead of hearing my name being called, I heard Dad’s exclamation of “What the !**&?” and that immediately snapped me out of my self-imposed trance. There I was, baby-spinach leaf dangling from my muzzle, the pizzaz laying accusingly in front of me folded over in half like a giant cardboard taco, and me waiting to be read the riot act.
“Hazel…Hazel! What on earth were you thinking?”
“Well, it should be obvious I wasn’t.”
As Dad bent down to lift the now taco-shaped pizzaz back to its place on the counter, the oven beeped.
I waited there (even though I just wanted to slink away), while Dad unfolded the pizzaz to its original circle and rearranged bits here and there, then put the slightly disheveled pizzaz in the oven. He then turned to me, removed the spinach leaf from my muzzle and quietly, firmly said, “Hazel, go lay down.” With that, I was released in body, but not quite in my mind.
No crust was shared with the pack at two-legged dinner, and I felt that Tucker and Keira knew it was my fault. I wished I could go back and fix it to where I hadn’t done that stupid, stupid thing. But I couldn’t figure out how.
At our dinner time, Keira got fed first, and I heard her make a happy noise when her bowl was set down. Next Tucker, then me, and on top of my kibble dinner were two golden brown, thick pieces of crust. When dinner was over, and we had all checked each other’s bowls, I looked up to see Dad waiting at the back door with my tennis ball and a smile. All of a sudden, everything felt right again.
I realized, sometimes, when you do something wrong or stupid, there’s no way to fix it. It takes someone else’s friendship and love to set things right again. That’s a very awesome thing, I think.
~Hazel Bazel Rocket Dog
