I trusted a dog

It was a mistake.

Last night I made something approaching the platonic ideal of banana bread. I used up three black bananas I'd had sitting around, a stick of butter, a mix of brown and white sugar and some sour cream and walnuts I'd bought to spice it up a little. Also, of course, eggs, flour, baking soda, sea salt and some apple pie spice.

It was a big honking loaf with a slightly crispy top from all the fat in it. The inside was moist and dense. The two pieces I ate were fantastic.

But, alas, I trusted a dog. I didn't realize I was trusting it at the time; the bread was on top of the kitchen counter, and I had not seen Walker go for stuff on the kitchen counter before. But even that dimwitted critter knew a perfect opportunity.

Walker, if you could speak English I'd ask you why you ate almost an entire loaf of banana bread, leaving naught but a corner, when you are a dog who is not supposed to like carbs. Don't you get enough from eating your four cups of dog food, my scraps and whatever is in the cat's bowl when you come in? Don't act like you don't eat the cat food, either. I see you do it.

People, this was some excellent banana bread. But I trusted a dog not to eat it. Now, I'm trusting he didn't get ill and throw up and crap all over another story of this house. He's locked outside until I'm ready to let him come back in again.

But there won't be banana bread for him to wolf down. I don't have any more walnuts or black bananas.