Cake Cookies

When it's just the two of us, we go long periods of time being quiet, just hanging out. But sometimes, J talks to me a lot. You probably figured she did.

I don't mind. Most of the time, she says things worth hearing. Things like, You want a bone? Feel like taking a walk with me? Is it time to feed you already?

The rest of the time, she rattles on about whatever, and I try to listen for the questions. If I can answer, I do. I help sometimes with her writing, but really, there isn't too much I can sort out for her. I let her talk things out, though. It seems to help.

When she loses something, I show her where it is. If she's not sure what to wear, I try to let her know if her first choice looks silly. Usually, the kid and I agree. (I don't know why, but she always asks that kid even after I give my opinion)

More often then not, she talks when she's cooking. I generally move into the kitchen then. I stay out if she's cleaning it, she needs the extra space. When she's cooking, she needs me closer at hand.

Today, after she worked, she made the Teriyaki stuff the kid likes with extra tofu and broccoli. She hates Teriyaki, so she dumped a lot of soy sauce on it. I just watched. If she hates it, I sure don't want any.

Later, after the kid left, J kept moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinet doors, looking in the freezer, pulling things out and putting them back. This is a sure sign that she wants more chocolate than she should have at one sitting.

Sure enough, she put a box on the counter and then went over to the machine, looking stuff up. Before you know it, she's dumping a cake mix into a giant bowl and carrying on about how she's going to make cookies out of cake mix.

She poured oil and broken eggs in there, and then found the chocolate chips that have been scrunched in the back of the freezer for months. I can't tell you where she found the nuts she chopped up, but it's probably a good thing they were being shoved in a hot oven for awhile before they got eaten. (not that I wouldn't have eaten them as they were, but people have weak constitutions)

I got a step by step of every stir of the spoon while she worked.

She rolled the squishy stuff into greasy balls and rolled 'em around in white powdery stuff, stuck 'em in the oven, then set the alarm on her phone. Before you know it, she's waving her cake cookies around, asking me if I think they look good.

What am I going to say? I'm a dog. Garbage looks good.

Did she share these mouth watering creations with me?

No, she did not.

After she ate about three of 'em, and burne herself twice, she noticed I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen staring at her. It took her awhile, but I'm good at staring.

Finally, she finished her cookies (both making and eating) And I got a big bone filled with peanutbutter and little milkbones. She is now drinking a glass of wine and unwinding from the day.

All's well that ends well.

Cosmo