12.23.2020

December 23, 2020

White Dog craned her neck toward rice bowl I was holding. "That is not rice, is it, momma?" she asked. "It smells like pistachio ice cream to me."

"As a matter of fact, Little White Dog of My Heart, it IS pistachio ice cream. Dad had to pickup gift certificates from I Scream Ice Cream and Bill remembered it is your favorite. He talked dad into bringing some home just for you. It smells wonderful and is full of pistachios."

"May I have a bite?" she politely asked. Across the room, the others were queuing up around Steve to share bites of vanilla. I held the bowl for her to daintily lick the greenness. For several minutes there was nothing but the quiet sound of slurping in the room. 

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