White Dog, with help from Roman, orgaized and planned a lovely Taj Mahal meal to celebrate Steve's birthday. All shared shammi lamb kabob with cucumber sauce and swooned at the aromas. Steve was just a few bites into his entree of murg sagwala, vegetable korma and dal makhani when White Dog asked to be taken outside. "I really cannot wait, dad. Sorry."
Steve set his dnner tray a far reach from the sofa and looked around the room. "I know my plate is safe, right?" The trouble with White Dogs is that they can find a loophole in any phrase.
When Steve was outside I cautioned the circling vultures. "Leave it!" and I pointedly placed the squirt bottle on the arm of the momma chair.
The look over her shoulder told me Opal had found a flaw in Steve's request. She jumped onto the sofa and in the time it took for me to grab the sprayer and send water across the room she has giraffed her neck and nabbed the corner of his plate with her lips. It flipped to the floor upside down and all of the flock descended...careful to push the plate to safety. ("I know my PLATE is safe...").
Steve came running in at the commontion and pushed past the wet dogs with their faces buried in the carpet. White Dog was gently placed on the sofa as he waved the thieves away from not only the spill but the tray which still held his chai and chutney. Zsofia actually had the nerve to woo a suggestion that at this point they were HELPING with cleanup.
It became Dinner Interruptus as Steve scooped up what he could and dragged out the carpet shampooer. Even after a thorough cleaning the aromas still called the Army to sniff and lick. "Honestly," I said in frustration, "this was NOT a nice ending to dinner. Maybe we should just skip pie ala mode."
Opal's look of what Steve saw as remorse (I think it was carefully manipulated opportunism) stirred his forgiving spirit. Pie was served warm , blueberry, with a spoonful of vanilla ice cream..
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