Sunday, October 24, 2010

Some dogs never get pizza. It's sad but it's true.

   Often times songs will pop in my head when I'm doing something that doesn't take much brain power. I'm not sure where they come from except the deep recesses of my mind. If I'm not speaking in tongues like the example I gave in the blog: No Cheese Oil, Cheezel, then occasionally a song that describes the task at hand is hovering around my brain and lips.
   The task last week at hand was making pizzas for some friends. I had to make several for the group and as I was enjoying the solitude of the moment and thinking about the number of dough balls I had to have ready for the following evening. I started in singing to myself a Bob Marley tune but had changed the words slightly. I make two pizzas before I make two pizzas then I get busy and I make two more. It seemed appropriate at the moment as I was up to my elbows in flour.
   Later in the day, as I noticed poor Presley having a rough day lounging around the house in various favorite locations having his early morning snooze, then his mid-morning snooze and finally a late morning snooze before climbing up on the sofa for his noon time snooze just before he takes his early afternoon snooze so he can be rested up enough to take his mid-afternoon snooze and so on and so on. Fast forward to his pre-night snooze so he can get a good rest before his full night snooze. The melody pops in my head again with the words changed ever so slightly to appropriately fit the moment: I take two naps before I take two naps and then I get up and I take two more. 
   It has got to be rough being a Golden Retriever to put in a six hour day with only 18 hours of sleep. The sad part of all is he only gets the scraps of the pizza that I am eating. A crust that is a bit too chewy or a little over done is all that is waiting for him.
  He knows the word pizza and he knows where to be when it's pizza time. Yes, I am guilty of even saving pizza crust when we have gone out for pizza and wrapped the ends up in a napkin and stashed them in my pocket until we get home. I know he knows we've been out for pizza and I can't lie to him. His nose knows. Later in the evening as we are settling in I let him know the truth. I usually will snuggle in with him and share some honesty with him. I tell him, "Presley, some Golden Retrievers never get to have pizza... I know, it's sad, but it's true." I generally will follow up with another statement of truth and tell him, "Presley, some Golden Retrievers don't have dads that make pizza... I know, it's sad, but it's true." He listens but I don't think he actually believes me. I think he thinks that everybody and every Golden Retriever gets pizza as a regular diet and I'm making a big deal out of it all.

Only a few times though have I ever finished the crust of a pizza. It's usually the part I leave on the plate as I delve into the next slice. Chicago Fire in Sacramento served that ultra thin crust pizza that started with the amazing first bite and finished the same way. A couple of my sourdough thick crusts have had me excited until the end but it doesn't often happen for me. I suppose it's that sensation of all those anticipated flavors exploding in your mouth that keeps me excited about the next bite. A pizza, I think should be exciting from start to finish. If you were to ask a Golden Retriever (when he is awake), I think Presley would have to disagree. The crust is meant for him.

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