Thanks for nothing, Grady.
Do you know what this is? It is a bowl. Moreover it is the bowl in which I *always* make my holiday turkey stuffing.
Do you see any stuffing? No. Why is that, one might wonder. Because on Friday, Grady ate almost an entire loaf of gently aged bread, torn into little shreds the way my father always did it.
I had too much in my hands to carry downstairs to the laundry room where it might be safe from thieving animals, but I forgot it. And while stowing away everything else I heard the tiniest disturbance upstairs. I dashed up the stairs as fast as one natural and one artificial knee will take you, to find the bowl on the floor, and my stuffing, nowhere to be seen.
I hear some of you worrying. Did it make him sick? Not a bit. Even though he had a large drink of water afterwards. I took away the fountain for several hours, during which Grady lay on the floor in a food coma. He didn’t even get up when I got Brandy food for supper, which he had already had. Along with his other meals for the next week.
As a consequence of this unspeakable act, I had to go to the store and buy another loaf of dog food.