Thwack! The newly opened jar of organic peanut butter bounced off the edge of the dining room table, then rolled across the chair and onto the floor, spewing its contents liberally on the tablecloth, the chair pad, and table leg. With a final flourish, it deposited a large, chunky puddle on the floor that looked amazing, like something a bear would leave in the forest.
“Great! And when I’m already late for work.” The sound of Dad’s low-level grumbling and the smell of peanut butter permeated the air. I like peanut butter as much as the next dog, but as I got out of my Tommy Bahama tropical-print bed with the coordinating peach-and-green blanket, I realized with a twinge that this amount of peanut butter might be an embarrassment of riches.
Ambling over to the sticky mess, I recalled an unfortunate incident when Joey and I had shared a jar of peanut butter and Ritz crackers when I was a puppy. But that had been the horrible pasty stuff, and this offering was quite liquid and rich, with oil and tiny peanut particles.
Getting on my hind legs, I began to clean the chair. “Marcy Mary! Don’t eat that!” Dad shrieked as he whirled around from the kitchen sink with a roll of paper towels in one hand and a sponge in the other. I paused. It was then I noticed the state of his trousers. A large gob of peanut butter had apparently landed on his trouser leg, then made its way south, coming to rest on his nicely polished shoe.
“Don’t you remember what happened when you and Joey ate all that peanut butter? It cost at least $300 at the vet’s and another $100 to clean the upholstery in the car.”
So I got down on all fours and went back to my bed, elegantly flinging my light-weight blanket over my perfectly formed body, and then started to doze. I have to say it was a little difficult sleeping since the low level muttering had increased in volume and I think I even heard some words that Joey is not allowed to use. And then there was the sound of chairs being scraped across the floor, not to mention the horrid smell of the floor cleaner. I poked my face out from under my blanket and gave a huge sigh.
Dad looked over at me. “If I could trust you, I would not have to get every last bit of this crap cleaned up.”
Really? I mean, who is constantly cleaning up messes in this place? And this is the thanks I get just because of a little juvenile indiscretion? I decided to show extreme irritation at Dad’s lack of sensitivity, so I positioned myself with my back toward him. Everyone knows that this position is the canine equivalent of certain human hand gestures.
Maintaining this pose of extreme disapproval, I heard Dad go upstairs and change his clothes, then come down and finally go out the door. The car started, and I heard the sound diminish as he drove down the hill.
Gone at last! I got out of bed and went over to the table. Just as I expected: a large river of oily peanut butter ran down the inner table leg and ended in a nice little puddle on the floor. Should I or shouldn’t I?
Yes? … No!
My superior brain gave me the answer. Since this was organic peanut butter and I was now a few years old, I should be fine. So I painstakingly cleaned the entire table leg, not forgetting the lovely little puddle on the floor. I must say this was superior peanut butter, not like that pasty stuff Joey and I had eaten.
Work done, I retired back to my bed, ready for my morning nap. As I made the third circle in my bedding preparatory to settling down, I began to feel an ominous gurgling in my abdominal region. A delicate little burp assured me that the upset may be associated with the “Oh yuck!” peanut butter. I paused to consider what to do. Most canines know the best cure for an upset stomach is a little grass, preferably kissed by the morning dew. Perfect!