Sunday, February 25, 2007


Surely the recent content of this site has made you aware that sometimes a pregnant girl likes some food. As for the much publicized "cravings" that coincide with growing a kid in your womb, I'd say that cheese has been the bulk of it. Cream cheese, ricotta, colby, sharp cheddar, Parmesan Reggiano, and my favorite indulgence, Monterrey Pepper Jack.

As of late, I have had a new, less conventional craving...chocolate...


Yes. Chocolate.

A Chocolate Lab to be exact. Really, isn't he cute enough to eat?

Pat established very early on that we were categorically NOT "dog people". (But don't you remember when he said he wasn't a cat person either? Ha!) I stipulated that we were not "dog people" now, nor would would we be for a very long time. But, maybe, just maybe, we could be dog people some day. Should one of our offspring truly want a dog (or maybe if I truly wanted a dog) we could have one someday, you know when the kids are old enough, responsible enough, our house is big enough, and the yard just right. Maybe, just maybe.

But we travel a lot, our kids are small, and our house...well, it feels like its getting smaller by the day. Blah, blah, blah!

I gave some consideration to the dogs of my past, coming to the grim conclusion that perhaps my own family just wasn't all that good with canines. There was the Brando, who preceded my birth. My grandma's call to say she'd seen him dead along side a country road near our rural home when I was hardly even 4 years old might be one of my very first memories. It was certainly the first time I remember crying from true sadness. Next came Mandy, a black mutt who was already 14 years old when we got her. Needless to say, she did not last long. There was Pepper, the Pekingese, whom my father loathed for coating his work pants in hair each day, and it was after her departure to another home that my parents vowed that we were no longer dog people. That only lasted until we completed our whirlwind tour of 3 states in 3 years while we moved to follow my dad's job, and then,once we settled back into Hoosier Heartland, we welcomed Otis, Moses, Patches (the Dalmatian who chewed through extension cords...when they were plugged in), Calvin, and another one while I was at college whose name eludes me most likely because by that point I had to guard my heart from being attached to dogs that entered our home. (And mind you, these are just the dogs we had. We had plenty of cats too.) Each of these dogs came and went via an unknown hole in the back gate, to my grandparents farm, or, in the case of the truly crazy ones, via the back seat of my mom's car -- most likely to the pound, although she would never admit to that. ( now 24 year old brother still thinks Patches went to a "farm"!)

What's that? Eight dogs in less than 18 years? In defense of my family, my sister has had the same pooch for over a decade now (and another for about 5 years even though Pat accidentally didn't latch their back gate well enough once and he ran away for 3 days), my mom has had the name neurotic canine for 8 years, and my dad and brother have both been responsible dog owners for well over 3 years respectively. Maybe it was me that ran all of our former puppies off?? Perish the thought!

And I probably should not even tell you this, but for about a year now we have loathed the small rat-like dog living next door to us. From day one, this dog has barked vehemently at NOTHING for hours on end each day. If you've spent any time at our house in the past year, you most certainly know of which dog we speak. The neighbors were aware of and even sympathetic to our frustration, because, apparently, she barked just as much inside as she did out. How they tolerated her we do not know, but they never made mention of finding another pasture for the little bitch. We often plotted the little dog's death, and Pat's dad, when he visited, always sincerely offered to carry out the plans. We never gathered enough courage to do anything other than wistfully pray for the dog to one day not be there anymore, however the Lord above saw fit to make that happen. Well friends, God, He does answer prayers.... Just this last weekend, while shoveling our driveway, the neighbor came down to offer us his superior shovel. He made mention of losing their dog recently, to which we politely nodded because their son had told us that one of their 2 older mutts, Cheetah, had to be put down a few weeks prior. We mourned her passing as she was a gentle giant who I often whispered sympathetic encouragement to over the fence because I knew she had to hate the little dog as much as I. When we offered our condolences to the neighbor in regards to Cheetah's passing, he quickly corrected, "No it was Skye...the little one. She died too." What? Apparently they had taken her in to be spayed, and she never came out of the anesthesia. Oh what heathens we felt like, offering our sympathy while our insides danced with glee. Yes, apparently, even now, I can run a dog off.

This truly is not the time for us to own a dog, and, perhaps, you could argue there never will be. So this pregnancy craving will go unindulged. I guess that means more pepper cheese for me.

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