Wednesday, November 5, 2014

You don't know Grits from Granola.

Early mid-morning, and the laser glares from the Beagle Posse were burning the back of my neck. I turned around from the desk and sighed, “OK, what now?”

“Breakfast,” Tuppence said.

“You had it,” I replied.

“Had what?” spoke Tommy.

“Your usual, Kibbles moistened with warm water, and lovingly served in your bowl on your food rug.”

The lasers went from red to white hot. “Yes! Again.”

“Look,” I said, “It's your food. You love it. You pester me for it, and you gobbled it up this morning as you do every day.”

Tommy began to inspect his butt while Tuppy continued the conversation. “And what did YOU have for breakfast?”

“My usual, eggs on buttered grits.”

“And what did Deborah have?”

“Her usual, yogurt with blueberries and granola.”

“And we get kibbles.”

“I think of it as your doggie granola.”

Tommy looked up from his posterior perusing, “And we've decided you don't know Grits from Granola.”

“I think the real phrase is, …......You know what, never mind that. Listen, guys, you've stolen a bowl of Deborah's yogurt and granola before, and the yogurt gave you the runs. Lactose intolerance. Remember?”

“So?”

“So? I had to clean it up, and steam clean the carpet. THAT so.”

The Posse had held still as long as possible. At this point, they went into committee with a snarling, running, ear tugging tumble down the hall and back. The caucus completed, they returned to their task. “We want yours.”

“Our food isn't good for you.”

“We don't care.”

I gave it a bit of thought, and said, “How about this? Tomorrow, when I make my grits, I'll make some for your breakfast.” They began to wag and look triumphant. “The thing is, I'll do it at MY breakfast time, which is a couple of hours later than your usual breakfast.”

Posse triumphalism turned into Posse growls. “Nooooooo. Too late.”

“Well,” I said, 6 am breakfast is kibbles. 8 am breakfast is grits.” I know the power of the beagle tummy clock. It rules.

Blank stares turned back into lasers. Then, they looked at each other, got their chipmunk hunter expressions on, and headed down the hall to the patio door ready for a rodent chase.

As they walked away, I heard Tommy say, “Well, Shineola. It was worth a try though.”






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