I spend a fair amount of time in the kitchen. And when I do, I have a little dog constantly underfoot. It's not just because she always has to be within three feet of me (because she does) and gets pouty when I won't let her in the bathroom with me. She's there because I drop a lot of stuff, which means she gets to eat whatever hits the floor. Ham pieces. Bread crumbs. Cream. Shredded cheese. Usually, this works out pretty well for her. Sure, she might get stepped on periodically, but on the plus side, there's free food.
That brings us to last Sunday. I was schmearing chocolate frosting on a cake (because chocolate frosting on cake is awesome). For some reason, I could not keep my grip on the spatula. I dropped it on the floor three times. Since dogs should never have chocolate, I had to fight off my fluffy bundle of ravenousness in order to get the splatters cleaned up. She was getting a little frustrated with my breaking the Sacred Rule of Floor Food. So much so that she was practically sitting on my feet in an attempt to beat me to any drops.
I loaded up the spatula with a particularly large dollop of this delicious, gooey, dark chocolate frosting. Have I mentioned that my dog is pure white? Because that's pretty significant. You can probably see where this is going. Once again, my grip is faulty and the spatula falls.
But the frosting never touched the floor.
And of course, she didn't learn her lesson. Except that maybe she needs to get a longer tongue.
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