Daphne
Daphne is “the dog” we refer to many times in our writing. She is a wonderfully happy, 85 lb. Rottweiler- the greatest dog ever. She has to be to eat all of the weird, sometimes awful things we concoct.
She came into our lives at a puppy store. After holding and playing with all the puppies my wife would let me, I finally came to the cage with this little black and tan furball, curled up sound asleep. Never one to let sleeping dogs lie, I had to take her out to play. As I picked her up, holding her nose to nose with me, this warm, wet tongue came out, and licked my face. I fell in love.
She became my constant shadow. If I got up, she got up. If I went outside, so did she. But as she got bigger, it became evident that the cute little puppy was going to get MUCH bigger. However, she still felt she was a lap dog, and so began a never ending bout with getting my manhood stepped on by this moose of a dog.
As she got bigger, she discovered that if she stood on her hind legs, she could reach the countertop easily. And so began the counter surfing, which led to the mysterious disappearance of at least two homemade, but uncooked, pizzas. We also mysteriously lost a pecan pie, a raw chicken breast, a double cheeseburger, countless fries, an apple, bacon grease-soaked paper towels, and for some odd reason, a lot of pairs of my socks.
As she’s gotten older, she’s calmed down a lot. I can still see that hang- dog expression on her face when she hears the fridge open. You dog owners know that look- the “Hey, I know that sound. That sound means people food. Yay!!” She’s still my taste tester, food ally, confidant, and most importantly, friend.
Leave a Comment