Oscar is sometimes a grouch, especially when awakened early on a Saturday morning. But my husband is known as The Human Tornado for a reason. Water on the mirror and countertops, electronics packaging strewn so he can see his new toy, when I met him he had individual string cheese wrappers lining the carpet from the frig to his desk with his homemade dual-brained computer.
Get the picture? Our dog Zoe does shed all over the place (Aussie with a perpetual undercoat) but when she has tummy troubles she can wait for me to get dressed, get keys and leash, go into the hallway, down the elevator and through the service entry before relieving herself. Three times since 3:30 this morning. Last time this happened was probably five years ago and she’s eight now so I really can’t complain about frequency of mid-night forays.
But when she eats a dead bird or something disgusting from the bushes, she vomits in her “safe place,” our bed. Luckily that only happens once every couple of years. Otherwise she is a model of neatness and decorum, except when she’s so excited to see guests that she jumps up on them. Oscar doesn’t do that.
And who am I in this equation? I’m the one who is married to Oscar, picked out Felix from the pound, and feeds, clothes, cleans up after and walks both. And finds time to pay the bills.
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On another note, I enjoyed the XXX Olympics kickoff last night. In my extensive cookbook collection I do have a mushroom trail guide (black and white drawings, no help at all from keeping me from poison) but I would like to know what kind of mushrooms director Danny Boyle was taking when he envisioned Queen Elizabeth jumping out of a helicopter, or, even more absurd, Rowen Atkinson with the London Symphony Orchestra. Cheeky, one might say. Chin up. Stiff upper lip. Mind the gap. Enjoy the Olympics! Dee
Cooking with Dee 