In our house, we humans have been guilty of eating a lot of fast food. We both work and it’s often easier for Mr. Taleteller to just run through the drive through than to come home and then get through dog chores and then finally start cooking dinner. Lately, though, we’ve been trying to cook more at home because it’s healthier for us, even though it takes some prior planning to eat on time.
It’s a sad statement on our affairs that our dogs immediately think that if we’re preparing something in the kitchen, it must be for them. It’s true that I make a fair amount of dog treats for them, and we get their dinner ready in there where we mix in any medicines or canned food that they’re having. Still, the idea never occurs to them that we might be preparing human food that is not for them.
In the past few months, I’ve noticed that Bunny comes out of the bedroom every morning when she hears Mr. Taleteller getting my lunch bag ready for me to take out the door with me. She’s the newly self appointed Food Quality Assurance member of the Cabinet here in our house. Oddly, Flattery doesn’t bother going to the kitchen in the morning. Perhaps it’s because nothing is happening on the stove and there are no aromas wafting into living room to tempt her.
The evenings are a different matter entirely, though. As soon as dinner gets started, the dogs come out of the woodwork. Morgan starts making herself heard since her crate is right by the kitchen door. The next thing you know, the Greyhounds are showing off the speed they’re famous for as a blur of fur whirls into the kitchen. The two of them actually race to get in there first.
What cracks me up is that we’ve never fed them when we’re cooking in the kitchen. I’m not sure where they got the idea that food was coming their way when we start cooking, because it has literally never happened. We don’t want to encourage them in that notion, because we’ve seen first hand how bad it can be and we never want that for our dogs.
I’ve been chuckling over their enthusiasm for our dinner preparations all week. The other night, chicken in Parmesan sauce was on the menu and in less than thirty seconds, Mr. Taleteller had his usual rapt audience supervising and volunteering to be taste testers. My husband was standing his ground, but it smelled so good that even my stomach was growling. At one point, he turned around to get something and all hell broke loose. I heard a yelp that definitely came from him, some sort of crash, dog feet skittering across the kitchen floor and some cursing that I’m pretty sure also came from my husband.
At that point, he decreed that there were too many cooks in the kitchen. Since he hadn’t spilled anything for them to taste, the dog sullenly retreated to the living room, casting hairy eyeballs at the kitchen doorway from time to time, but staying out of the kitchen. Clearly, they weren’t willing to risk another close call, but I feel confident that it will not deter them for long. My guess is that they’ll be back in there offering taste testing services as soon as the stove fires up again tomorrow.
One thing I can say is that they are definitely persistent. If I were as motivated as they are to pursue my passions, I’d be living the dream by now. I’d probably also be eating a lot more, which might not be so good.