My two smallest dogs got into a throw-down yesterday after walking a mile. You would think that someone only three inches off the ground would be too tired to scrap after a walk like that, but no siree. What were they fighting over? An empty walnut shell. By the time I pulled them apart (which consisted of me yelling like a maniac and lunging for them while they artfully dodged my grasp (while still grasping each other)) Bunny was coated in Butter's saliva and Butter was limping. The thing is, my dogs look like wrestling teddy bears when they fight so it's hard to yell at them after the fact. Have you ever seen a pissed off teddy bear trying to shrug off a fight as he walks away? That's my dog! Now don't get me wrong, it's upsetting to me when they squabble and I certainly do everything I can to discourage it, but it's hard to stay mad at them when it happens.
I spent the afternoon grasping complicated GMAT math concepts (I believe the chapter is called, "Math Fundamentals"). I scored 100% after 100% after 100% on the practice tests, then it was time for the assessment test (which counts). My score? 53%.
On to dinner where I'd planned a gourmet meal of seared scallops on seasoned greens. The recipe directed me to heat 1 teaspoon of vegetable oil in the pan on high for five minutes. "This can't be right," I told myself, "Wouldn't that catch the oil on fire or, best case scenario, ruin the pan?" Ignoring the voice of reason, I decided to listen to Pampered Chef instead and followed the directions. After five minutes, I dropped the chopped vegetables into the hot oil...
You would have thought I set off a smoke bomb. By this time my husband was home, cheerfully recounting his day as I 'cooked'. As soon as the veggies hit the pan and started smoking, he stopped talking (mid-sentence) and went into auto pilot. I guess I've done this to him before because he knew exactly what to do. "I wonder if I should go get the fire extinguisher?" I thought as I glanced over my shoulder, "Nah, that might freak him out." Husband was behind me, frantically fanning the smoke detector with one hand while opening the front door with the other. "Smart move!" I thought as I continued stirring the vegetables. "I wonder what temperature oil has to get to before it catches fire?" My eyes started tearing. The dogs started running. "Hmmm...I wonder if dogs are like canaries? Do the dogs know something about impending danger before I do?"
The inside of the $165-wedding-gift pan began to turn yellow, then brown, then black.
By now tears are streaming down my face and the dogs are gone. "If I don't panic, no one else will." I told myself as I calmly (and stubbornly) continued "Butter's gone." My husband reports, interrupting my revelry. "What?" I ask, "Are you sure?" "Yep. The front gate was opened and I think he was scared and ran away." Hmmm...I never considered that outlet before. When scared, run away. Just tear through the front gate and go! I imagine what would have happened if I'd done that when the pan started smoking...
"Okay, well, get Summer (our Lab) and go look for him, I guess." I may have seemed calm, perhaps too calm, but again I was working on the premise that if I didn't panic, no one else would. Husband and dog depart. My cooking exercise is peppered with intervals of wandering out into the front yard, calling Butter's name with the promise of "treats". Husband and Lab return 15 minutes later without Butter. Husband looks distraught.
"This is all my fault!" He says, miserably. "If I hadn't left the front door open he never could have run away. What was I thinking?"
My heart broke. "Don't worry-- we don't call him 'Boomerang Dog' for nothing. He'll come back, he always does. Do you know how many times I've gone looking for him only to find him waiting for me on the front porch when I got home? Besides, his tags are up-to-date and he's micro-chipped. Now eat your scallops."
Husband chews thoughtfully on the sauteed spinach. I opt for a bite of buttery scallops. Neither of us is very hungry. "Hmm...not bad!" I think as I try to keep my mind off Butter. It's not working. I find myself growing more and more anxious as the minutes tick by. We are seated by the front window and continually cast our glance out onto the porch in the hopes that my prediction will come true.
Then I take a bite of the rice. "Blech!" I declare as I spit it out. I remember that when I salted the rice, I tipped the salt container the wrong way and a whole bunch came out. "This shouldn't matter." I said to myself at the time, unconcerned. Clearly it did matter.
Husband has cleaned half his plate at this point. I feel sorry for him.
Time to taste the spinach--double blech! Somehow, even though I didn't put any in, it tastes like I repeated the rice-salt mistake but with pepper. "This is terrible!' I tell my husband. He looks guilty; he thought it was terrible too.
"I'm not hungry anyway." I mutter as I push back from the table. Husband looks relieved to be excused from eating the rest of the plate of food. I go outside and yell for Butter some more. I listen for the sound of his collar jingling. Nothing. I then proceed to open every door in our house (it's not unusual that we lose a dog only to find it in the pantry or bathroom). I go upstairs to check under the bed...
...and there's Butter. Hiding, frightened and sweet as he can be. I scoop him up in my arms and carry him downstairs. My husband's so relieved, he forgets all about his lousy dinner.
Happy and hungry again, I pull a pizza out of the freezer and turn on the oven. "That was just a guise to make you appreciate it when I serve you prepackaged, frozen food!" I declare, finger pointing toward the sky. "What we're really having for dinner tonight, is pizza!"
8 comments:
i can't believe you didnt post the 'bunny pissed' picture when you talked about an angry teddy bear :)
http://www.ekmedia.com/pics/bunny-pissed.jpg
glad Butter was under the bed and not out playing in traffic.
and i'm not believing any of your cooking fiasco stories...i've had great meals made by you.... unleeessssss, you ordered out, then just dirtied up some pans in the sink and pretended you'd made them....
hmmm
Hahhaa--I love that pic, thanks for the link.
Okay, Naysayer, I promise that the stories are 100% true. Ask my husband. Or, alternatively, look at how thin he's becoming since we quit eating out. Or, alternatively, come on over and smell the remnants of last night's fiasco.
ha ha ha... I've had a very similar event but dare I say, it was with a stupid potato in the microwave. I thought those things took 30 mins. As my memory failed me.... it was 3 huge potatoes that my mom heated up in the microwave, NOT 1 small poopflick of a potato. So, yeah, smoke smelled house for a week and scorched microwave. Who knew that that thing had a "potato" button! Sheesh!
That pic of bunny pissed made me giggle uncontrollably! Awesome!!!
Glad all is well now and butter is safe!
Maybe you should try the raw food craze. There's nothing to cook- you just pick some fresh veggies and fruit, add some sauce and bam! an awesome meal. And there are cookbooks for it too (if you can call something that doesn't involve cooking a cookbook...).
Poor Butter, I probably would have reacted the same way!
Yeah...I think there's a reason why they call it a 'craze' (as in, crazy). And you're right, Toes, pouring sauce over raw vegetables is not cooking, unless you make the sauce (which isn't gonna happen in my world)!
just be thankful there was a pizza in the freezer!
No kidding! That little piece of marital advice was given to me by my sister-in-law and I think it's quite valuable!
ah yes, the frozen pizza backup. i have 3 in there right now...not that i'm a bad cook or anything. mainly because i'm lazy :)
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