My daughter makes the absolute best cookies in the world. I know she follows the standard Toll House cookie recipe that’s printed on the bag for all the world to see, and I know that the only thing she does differently is to add butterscotch chips. Nonetheless, to me they are the best cookies in the world. When she bakes them, they are the perfect thickness. Not dry, not mushy – just the right amount of “gooey-ness”. And after a particularly long day, there’s not a better way to call it a night than enjoying a warm, homemade cookie with a glass of cold milk.
The other evening followed this script perfectly. The day had been particularly busy and we had accomplished a ton of stuff. I finished my work and could smell the unmistakable aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Perfect, I thought – even justifying it further by recollecting the otherwise healthy food choices I had made to that point in the day. I’ll just go hop in the shower and when I come out I’ll enjoy one of those (who am I kidding I was planning on knocking down five of them) cookies right before calling it a night.
20 minutes later I come out of the shower, and head straight to the kitchen to take my just rewards for a day well served – only to find, as I approached the counter, a cookie sheet COMPLETELY BARE OF COOKIES. There were 12 – an entire dozen cookies – baking in the oven and NOW THERE ARE NONE. Accusations started to fly from my mouth – WHO ATE ALL THE COOKIES? Son and daughter pleaded their innocence from upstairs. Shannon gave an immediate defense of her own, and showed a pile of folded laundry as evidence of her whereabouts. Internal rage begin to rise, as I could not believe that my family would take my just desserts from me….
And that’s when I looked at the cookie sheet a little closer.
Amidst the light circular impressions of where those twelve delectable cookies had been only a few minutes before, I could begin to make out another geometric shape of residue. One that looked like a smear? Almost like someone had swiped each of the cookies off the pan with..something wet…..?
And that’s when I noticed my dog licking his slips. Smiling. Feeling absolutely smug and without guilt.
Pets are messy. They do things wrong. They get dirty, get hair everywhere, they smell on occasion (well, maybe more than occasionally), they cough up hairballs, and they steal cookies. My pets will never be at the Westminster Dog Show. They are imperfect, even as we are imperfect.
And we love them dearly.
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