Thursday, January 17, 2008

Happy Beaster

Sailor here.

Mom woke up, groaned, rolled over and I stuck my nose in her eye.

“Happy Beaster,” she said, throwing back the comforter and hobbling to the large water bowl in the small room.

Happy Beaster? Well, I am a beast.
“Oboy,” I thought, “a day devoted to making me happy!”

“It’s bunny day,” she added, stepping into her not-work pants.

Bunny day? I get to eat rabbit, too? For breakfast?

“I can’t wait,” I smiled and wagged my tail.

But breakfast was not as I had pictured. I don’t understand human language. Well, I DO understand Cheese, Sit, and Leave It! But a lot of the things that come out of Mom’s mouth go right over my headpiece.

While I waited for the Breakfast That Wasn't, Mom’s grandbaby, who is now 2 years old in human years, and her parents and her uncle came over. The grown ups shuffled around in the backyard, putting eggs down on the grass.

Eggs? For me?

“Well, OK, I like eggs,” I thought, “especially if Mom opens them and pours the insides into my bowl over a blob of yogurt.” I got ready to eat eggs.

But that was not to be either. Mom picked a really rotten time to practice the LeaveIt! command. And she practiced it over and over. And over. BabyEllie got to pick up the eggs. She got to carry a basket. She got to put the eggs in the basket. She got to drop the basket on the bricks. She got to pick the eggs up all over again.

“Mom,” I whined from the deck where I was also practicing my long Down, “I can carry a basket, too. It’s like the dumbbell, I can carry it, and I can drop it, just like BabyEllie.”

Mom ignored me. BabyEllie ignored me. Zoe in the dog run ignored me. I felt, well, ignored.

And as I was waiting for the Eggs That Weren't, the most wonderful thing happened.

“Breakfast!” Mom called, and she wasn’t calling her human family. No, she was calling me and Zoe.

Mom put my bowl on the floor. Eggs! Rabbit! Yogurt! I glanced at Zoe to make sure she wasn’t going to spook me away from my bowl. Zoe glanced at me to make sure I wasn’t going to vulch over her bowl. And we both tucked in.

Happy Beaster, indeed. I celebrated Happy Feaster!

No comments: