|She has, I must say, one heck of a great gray beard.|
At 7:09pm, while eating my dinner of salad and triscuits and peanut butter (don't judge), I got a wild hair to go to the beach and read and watch the sunset. I dashed into the kitchen, put everything away (I thought), and headed off. When I got back at 8, I was stunned to see that almost full jar of peanut butter, still sitting precariously perched near the edge of the counter, open. OPEN. ON THE COUNTER. WITHIN REACH OF THE EDGE. And I instinctively started looking around to see where the rest of the peanut butter was. Which cabinets and furniture had peanut butter smeared all over them. How bad the beard/ leg fur damage was going to be.
Then it dawned on me. There was actually an almost full, open jar of peanut butter on the counter. And it was Undisturbed.
And my heart broke, just a little.
My baby girl. My high-maintenance, always-in-to-something, can't-take-your-eyes-off-her-because-she-is-totally-untrustworthy, girl, didn't touch it. I don't know if she just slept through me being gone, or if her smeller isn't working well, or if those old hips just wouldn't allow her to counter-surf, but I'm just sitting here bawling like a baby. It's a sad thing, isn't it? When your furry kids start really slowing down?
So now, I think I'll go hug on her and give her a dog biscuit. Slathered, of course, with peanut butter.