"COME HERE," Himself yelled up the stairs tonight. "HURRY!"
I don't like to be yelled at, I was in the middle of tending to a risotto and baked chicken and a balsamic glaze (could I pick any more things that had to be cooking at the same time "just so"?!).
But, since the birth of Woodstock, the word "HURRY!" combined with a yell, means the world is about to end - either in mass destruction of her creation or with her as its victim.
I tore down the stairs - risotto spoon in one hand, balsamic glaze whisk in the other.
"Woodstock is walking!" Himself exclaimed.
I sat down on the stores and cheered Woodstock on, risotto and glaze momentarily forgotten.
She walked 5 steps - and apparently loved the lavish praise (why are we praising her, I'm thinking now - this just means trouble!), because she kept doing it all evening.
And, wouldn't you know it, the momentary lapse in kitchen attention still resulted in my first successful risotto and a lovely balsamic glaze for the chicken.
1 comment:
Yay, Woodstock! Now all of your troubles begin. Raise the roof because she'll figure out a way to climb up there! :)
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