Cold potato

Like most dogs, OK … who am I kidding? Like all dogs, Abe loves almost any food humans eat. Tonight, I made my renowned mashed potatoes to accompany our meal. They’re a conglomeration of potatoes with the skins still on, butter, garlic, cayenne pepper, chives, and whatever else I throw in at the last second. Well, Abe was standing around praying for some of the spuds to drop. I didn’t drop any, so Greg sneakily dropped a dollop into Abe’s food dish. Except it wasn’t Abe’s food dish, but rather, his water dish. Oops! (Sometime in the last day or two, the position of Abe’s dishes had gotten reversed, and Greg wasn’t yet up to speed.)

Abe didn’t mind. He started lapping at his dish of water. And lapping. And lapping. Lapping some more, his tummy becoming distended, water dribbling down his beard.

A minute later, Greg stole the dish from under Abe’s nose lest he drink the remainder and explode like a water balloon. And shortly after that Abe started whimpering at me. I’ve never seen that dog bolt out the door, down the stairs and onto the grass so quickly. I think I heard him sigh as his paws hit the sod.