My Dogs Aren’t From New England

Every morning I put a dollop of whole milk yogurt on top of the kibble that I feed my dogs, for the probiotics involved. Or maybe it’s just because they love it. This morning, watching them gobble that up before attacking the dry food, I thought “they can’t be from New England”.

Raised in New England, where traces of the Puritan ways still linger, you are taught to save the best for last, suffer through the drudgery before savoring the sweet, get all the work done before sitting down, and use up all of the old before starting the new.

That certainly isn’t how my dogs see life.

My dogs eat desert first. Okay, I’ve said it.

The only drudgery that my dogs might allow in their lives would be suffering through a bath, otherwise all they do is play, eat, and sleep. And in that, hunting and training, which they love, are included in play.

I want to be like a dog and eat desert first.

Wouldn’t it be a shame if a gigantic meteor destroyed Earth while the strawberry shortcake waited for the main course to be finished?