a favorite from the archives: "just when you thought it was safe to give away the dog"

I forgot to move the dining room table in front of fridge before leaving the house.  Why would I have to do this, you may ask?  Because we have the breed of dog that is incredibly smart, but uses his powers for food.  Good food, not dog food.  And this makes him evil.

I came home to an open fridge door, the remains of a Hebrew National package licked clean into the corner of the dining room (he's kosher), an empty container of chicken salad upside down, and an array of licked portabello mushrooms on the floor in front of the open fridge door, pulled from the beef stew I made in advance for dinner that night (a subtle suggestion for future stews.)

I was mad.  I was Ispent$200atthegrocerystore2daysagoandyoucouldhaveatleastclosedthedoorwhenyouweredone
kind of mad.

I might have yelled.  I might have said something to the effect of "pack your bags, you stupid hound, you're going to the big farm in the sky".  Fiona might have been old enough to understand that I meant doggie heaven.  It might have given her a 6 year old panic attack.

Me: "Sorry, Fiona.  I'm mad, but you know I'm not going to give him away.  Don't worry- for better or for worse, and all that blah, blah, blah..."

{horror film chills in 5...4...3..2...}

Fiona: (chuckling) "Mom, what would you do if Dad dies?"

Me: "Oh.  What?  Why would you say that?"

Fiona: "Really.  What would you do?"

Me: "Well, I'd be sad.  And let's not talk about that, alright?"

Fiona: (holding back laughter) "What would you do if ME and Dad died?"

Me: "Okay.  What?  Why?  And are you laughing?"

Fiona: "Wait.  What would you do if NEVE, me, and Daddy... if we ALL died?"

Me:  "Alright.  That's enough!  You wanna know what I'd do?  I'd be really sad, and I wouldn't know what to do with myself, and now- from here on out- this will never be talked about in our house again.  And wipe that sick smirk off your face!"

Thinking: "I mean, what?  I'm scraping portobello mushrooms off the floor.  Let's not compound the situation with the fear that I have a 6 year old sociopathic daughter.  Please?"

Fiona: "Mom?"

Me: cautiously, "Yes?"

Fiona: (full on laugh now) "You know what you'd do?  It would just be you and Banjo, and you'd do this:

(mocking me in the ugliest voice, and I could swear I remember her impersonation involved me with a hunchback) 'Banjo!  You're a bad dog!  You ate all my soup!'

(doubled over laughing), "But you'd be glad you didn't give him away, right?"


Me: "Uh huh."

I'm terrified, I'm impressed, I'm humbled, and I'm laughing.  Hooray for motherhood!

(my One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest shot of Fi, courtesy of Anna Watson.)