White Dog put on her stern face. "Thought you and dad were just running to the grocery and to the fish market," she stormed. "It has been DAYS!" Mind you, it was fifteen minutes past normal dinner time.
"Where have you..." then she noticed the stack of white styrofoam boxes...actually the entire White Dog Army did. They quickly closed in to surround Steve who high-stepped out to the kitchen to set them WAY back on the counter.
"YOU WENT OUT FOR DINNER!" it was an accusation, meant to make us feel guilty at the thought of seven White Dogs nearly perishing from hunger as we dallied and laughed and enjoyed a gourmet repast. Steve snuck back out to grab the groceries. I faced down the floofy hoard.
"Yes, and did you notice? We did not for a moment forget you! So be patient a few more minutes and you shall belatedly share." "Share from WHERE?" White Dog demanded. "I am not really in the mood for Italian."
"Well then how about Marisco's Alta Mar? Are you in the mood for some Mexican seafood?" Instantly the WDA sat and watched as Steve opened the containers and began making White Dog dinners. Atop of their usual fare, each pup received a wedge of shrimp quesadilla, a spoon of octopus fajitas (no onions), and a bit of mojarra frito with garlic. Tails pounded the floor in anticipation. Even White Dog hopped down and moved to the chair where she perches to eat.
Not a sound was heard as the WDA chowed through their meals. After, Zsofia pointed out that this was the first time she had ever eaten octopus and asked what it was. Her siblings had great sport painting a picture of a monstrous multi-tentacled beast that would wrap her tight if she was ever captured.
Once they had teased the baby into sitting on Steve's lap for protection, they all lined up in front of me. The look was expectant. "Did you enjoy?" I asked. Heads nodded but the look persisted. "But?" YoYoMa cleared his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I looked blank.
"THE FLAN!" was the chorus that answered me. "Sorry, pups, no flan. Not for you. Not for us." Once the shock washed over the WDA, the crowd began to disperse, muttering about the impossibility of NOT having flan to end such an excellent Mexican meal. "What should we do," Steve asked as he worried about disappointing the pack. "We should let them digest a wonderful meal, give them bed time walks in a bit, and night-night treats. They will live and will certainly NOT starve." From somepup in the hallway I heard the softest whisper, "meanie mom!"