Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
So. This is my dog.
You know: Javier, Columbia's Finest Chihuahua.
Except for what he did yesterday.
As is my daily matutinal habit I got up, whisked Javier outside to check his messages, and set about preparing my breakfast.
This is my routine.
First, put on the water to boil for fresh, strong, hot coffee made in the Barenthal (or Bodum, depending on my mood) French press.
While the water is boiling I eat an orange. I do not sit down for this.
After I've poured the water over the grounds, I drop two slices of oatmeal (or cinnamon raisin, depending on my mood) bread into the toaster.
While I'm waiting for the coffee grounds to soak up the water and for the bread to become toast, I let Javier back inside.
He much prefers inside to outside. Much. Remember that.
Next I pour a generous amount of real half-and-half into my coffee mug and heat it in the microwave for one minute.
Usually by the time that's done, the toast has popped up.
I unite my strong, hot, fresh coffee with my warm half-and-half in my favorite mug and stir with a long, skinny, red silicone spatula. Never a spoon.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Then I place my toast on my favorite plate and butter it lightly. The toast; not the plate.
At this point I go downstairs to the family room (or upstairs to the guest bedroom, depending on my mood) where I will situate myself comfortably either in my favorite chair or on the bed.
Yesterday I went upstairs. As usual, smelling toast, Javier followed me.
Since the bed on which I planned to sit is too high for him to jump onto, I helped him up.
But first, naturally, I placed my toast and coffee on a table beside the bed.
Then I forgot I'd left my phone downstairs in the kitchen.
So I went to get it. I was gone twenty seconds. If that.
WHEN I RETURNED guess who was at the edge of the bed, straining as hard as he could toward my plate, LICKING MY TOAST?
You got it right the first time.
Javier.
A/K/A
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
I barked his name. He jumped back. I glared. He cowered.
"It must be true what they say, that you are what you eat, because buddy, you are officially toast," I said.
"Well, officially I'm only butter," he thought. I KNOW he thought it.
"Either way that was a crummy thing to have done," I said, not willing to let a dog have the last word.
Then, not wishing to discuss it any further I picked his carcass up and carried it downstairs and deposited it outside where he remained until we left for prayer meeting, at which point he was allowed to be in the sunroom.
However.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Unfortunately, recidivism is pronounced in Chihuahuas.
><><><>++++<><><><
Happy Thursday! Keep a weather eye on your toast!