There are distinct, yet unwritten rules at the ROTK in the USA.
None have been documented in stone, but firm they are.
If I break down into snack mode, consuming anything from a plastic cup, be it yogurt, ice cream, or pudding (Puddin’ for the cool kids), Ellie is a recipient of the last lickings.
And darn it, there better be some left.
The thing is, Ellie doesn’t even come around if the contents of the bowl or cup are cereal-based.
Some mornings, when I partake of wheat, shredded by loving hands, then employee-sprinkled with confectionery sugar, hardened into the cereal’s crispy outer shell, from a box stamped Nabisco, Ellie doesn’t even budge from her bed in the corner.
I know— dogs can figure things out based on standard odors, the sound of the spoon hitting discount ceramic bowls, and maybe the specific echo of the crunch. There is something in the process that keeps her uninterested, but she’s never shared it with me verbally.
But pudding, in a cup, consumed in the confines of my home by a guy who probably wouldn’t eat pudding in public, she’s all in.
I’d rather have my Mama’s homemade custard or vanilla pudding than almost any dessert, but those days have passed. And, before you tell me to cook some, nope. It can never be the same.
I fill the hollow desire with the cheap stuff, something we never had as kids, as I came up prior to Snack Pack pre-packaged puddings being made available as a lunchbox staple. Oh, it probably happened sometime in the 70s, but budgets didn’t allow for such frivolous deployment of family coin.
When my parents lived in the apartment adjacent to my home for over twenty years, my Dad would often come to the downstairs door, give it a rap or two, squeak it open, and say, “Hey, Chief, your mother whipped up some homemade pudding.”
Yup, my Daddy liked it too, and I’d go down for a bowl of warm, smooth pudding with real whipped cream.
I come from a line of pudding people.
So Ellie came to the right place, or maybe she simply evolved into one of us.
She was there, in the old house, often sneaking off to Mom and Dad’s apartment for snacks. My Father was a sucker for a dog, any dog, who wanted the last bite. Ellie, younger, and more athletic then, would run downstairs, scoot through the utility room, and burst into their three-bedroom digs on a regular basis.
Often, I’d find her sitting at attention beside my Father’s recliner, waiting for the last bite of something, and it didn’t have to be pudding. But she never wanted the most commonly consumed bowl-centric food: cereal.
Dunno.
In a recent shopping frenzy, to restock the cupboards at the camp, I bought a supply of pudding that would feed an army: 36 of them. Chocolate and vanilla, in equal numbers. My granddaughter and grandson found them to their liking, and I caught them a couple of times settling in with a spoon and a smile.
Pudding does that. Save your Cosby comments, but he did sell some pudding to America.
Before I shipped out my Significant One, back to her city lair, she found my remaining pudding stock high in the pantry.
The question always comes, and I have to hold my tongue to keep the sarcasm down: “Did you buy this?”
“Why yes, Dear, I did,” is never the answer; it’s often more caustic and humorous. She deals with it well.
Last night, after fine dining on a cold, two-day-old chicken breast and the remaining peas in a Birdseye steamer pouch, I settled on the patio to watch Ellie wander around the backyard.
I recalled my pudding stash, sneaking back into the house to grab one with a delivery device (spoon), thinking I could get through it before she returned from pooping on the woodline.
Not a chance. She arrived chairside before the second stainless steel shovelful.
She loves the vanilla, so I really only get about three scoops before her eyes burn a hole into my soul, causing me to give in, knowing that pudding is not the best for my aging physique.
Pudding with the Dog; not a bad way to close out a Tuesday on the Jagged Edge of America.
But both of us wish we could hear the loving knock, and a “Hey, Chief, your Mother made pudding,” instead.
TC
&
Ellie
Thanks for your support through BuyMeACoffee to keep things rolling. I appreciate you. Be well. tc