By Anne Sullivan
“What’s that?” Sylvia pointed to the two slices of apple I’d put in her dish.
‘That’s apple,” I said. “It’s a fruit. It’s good and it’s very good for you.”
“Thank you, no.” Sylvia glared at the offending slices. “Dogs don’t eat apples.”
“Yes, they do. I read it in a magazine,” I said. “The article said that people should give their dogs apple slices and vegetables instead of doggy treats.”
Sylvia shook her head so hard that her tags jangled. “I’m surprised at you, believing such nonsense. Here I thought you were a reasonably intelligent person and you turn out to be so gullible. Next thing we know, you’ll be giving all our money away to a Nigerian ponzi scheme. What magazine did you read that in anyway?”
“I forget.”
“You forget everything,” said Sylvia with a tinge of disgust.
“I know. But I refuse to let it upset me.”
“It’s not going to upset me either. It’s very simple. I refuse to eat this healthy junk.” Whereupon Sylvia nosed the offending apple slices out of her dish and onto the kitchen floor.
“Stop that, Sylvia. Remember your manners. What would Emily Post say?”
Sylvia gave me a look of incredulity and scooted the apple slices between my legs like hockey pucks.
“Goal,” she announced.
“Sylvia, what has gotten into you? That’s good food you’re playing with. You will apologize immediately.”
“Do I get to apologize publicly with all the news media present?”
“The only public here is that spider in the corner and he’s busy spinning and I doubt the Mountain Mail will send out a reporter. Just say you’re sorry and have done with it.”
Sylvia puffed up her chest and intoned, “I, Sylvia, being of sound mind and body, do swear that I own this imaginary podium. I wish to state that I apologize to all America and the rest of the world as well, for tossing my apple slices. I am sorry to have disappointed you and I shall endeavor to do better.”
“Cut the drama and pick up the apple.”
She complied, being very careful not to let a bite of it soil her tongue. “There,” she said after dropping the two pieces in the trash. “Now, what’s for breakfast?”
“The usual kibble.”
Sylvia scowled and pushed her dish away.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “In that article I read, the dogs just loved apple slices.”
“Don’t believe everything you read,” Sylvia warned me. “Now, if you would please let me out, I want to practice digging. With all the melted snow, the ground is pretty soft today. I should be able to make some headway on my hole to China.”
“Where are you planning to dig?” I asked.
“I thought the lawn would be a good place. It’s close to the house, so I can warn you if anyone comes up the road to attack us.”
“That’s very thoughtful and caring of you, but the lawn might not be the best place to dig a large hole.”
“Why ever not?”
“For one thing, it’s so close to the house that I might fall in. I like China but hurtling through a tunnel is not my chosen form of travel.” At this point I could see that Sylvia looked perilously close to a melt-down so I added, “Just think, if I were to get stuck in there, you’d have no one to feed you.”
It didn’t take Sylvia long to take that into consideration. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll dig over by the far cabin. Anything to make you happy.”
“Thank you. Remind me again, why is it so important for you to get to China?”
“It’s for the contest. So I can get on a Reality Show. Everyone’s getting on those shows and it’s high time dogs had their turn.”
“Oh, yes, now I remember. How do you think the Chinese are going to feel about a bunch of holes in their country’s infrastructure? They’re very security-minded. Much more than we are.”
“We shall have to see, won’t we?”
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