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They are always there, and they creep up when you least expect it.
Twelve years ago, we got a puppy. A chocolate lab puppy. A big, hairy, floppy eared, clumsy, slobbering fool of a puppy. He was awesome. We named him Coco. I fell head over heels for that silly old dog.
One day while I was at work, Coco took it upon himself to rearrange all of my cookbooks, and give them a fresh new look. He tore most of the covers to shreds, and scattered them about the living room. I came home to a carpet littered with quarter-sized shreds of cardboard. And a dog that was mysteriously absent from the cookbook carnage.
Mm-hmm.
Well, I LOVED my cookbooks and we couldn’t afford to replace them at the time, so I kept them. The recipes weren’t damaged, just the covers. There are recipes in the books that I go to every holiday, or special occasion, but other than that, I don’t open them much throughout the year anymore.
It’s always kind of a surprise when I do pull them out, and they cause me to stop and remember that dog. And that always makes me smile, but it also leaves me with a little bit of sadness. He wasn’t here with us nearly long enough.
Part of me really wants another dog. And part of me is afraid that no dog is ever going to measure up to that Coco.
Cookbooks, slobber, dog hair and all.
