"16 Legs in the Kitchen!"

The sound was unmistakable; their reactions, so predictable. I watched the group, '16 legs in the kitchen', galloping to the absurd, not certain where they were going or why. They were following their leader, Mall Cop. It was a most comical interlude, as my 'daughter' arrived to pick up her 'children'. I had been babysitting the foursome that day. Soon it would be time for two of them to leave.

I watched as these innocent, adorable faces lighted from their quiet sleeping area, in the adjacent room, near the kitchen, to follow that familiar sound of the chef's knife hitting a hard surface, the counter top. That glorious sound always preceded the dramatic entrance of the fruit platter, the crowning glory of all things delicious. A two-step drop into their room helped to slow them down, occasionally. But that familiar chopping sound from the kitchen, alerting them to the wondrous aroma and tastes that would soon follow, could not be ignored. 

 

They could barely contain their excitement as 'Ella, the 3 year-old mini-schnauzer, the 'Wiggler', our 3 year-old retriever and 'Sally', his older sister, another retriever follow sir Mall Cop, the terrier, their diminutive leader, - a professor in disguise - into this very special place called the kitchen. I just had to laugh. In the corner of my eye, a 'herd' of quiet, cute little furry people approached, running with conviction. "I'm late. I'm late for a very important date. Hello, good bye. I'm late. I'm late. I'm late." I could not let that famous quote go by. 

 

As I hurried to prepare their special produce platter, they continued to run to and fro, in tandem, in a comical exhibition, while watching me work, tirelessly, on their behalf. They reminded me of a very large centipede running amok. Oh My, how funny it all seemed to be. 

 

Would I give in and offer them a morsel for the long 'walk home?” No, not now, not here. I did not want to encourage them, to eat here, in this cooking place, where great meals or simple foods are created. How could I? The compost pail is nearby, too, too close for comfort, for these animals of the 'raw' and minimally processed food diet. Even with its lid down securely, the pail is an enticement, a monument to food. It is monitored closely. A turkey leg, firmly ensconced inside, was removed gingerly, by the youngest member, one holiday evening. Ella lay there with this unusual looking toy until I noticed its unusual shape. Was that a rawhide stick I was not familiar of?" The youngest and smallest of the group and probably smartest knew what she was doing.

There is a semblance of order and it matters, in the house of many puppies. What if I had another one to add to this motley crew group of energetic four-legged delights? A much larger centipede, perhaps? What if Harry, the Great Dane, were to join us? Too soon to tell. The gigantic baby Dane, at 160 pounds, is no longer a baby, having recently graduated into the hallowed hall of adult dog, the well-behaved, calm version of the puppy. He is a beautiful boy, a member of the tallest breed in the world, I know. He has been raised well. Plays well with others and loves a good marathon. Would he need me someday? Would he love his fruit platter, too? Maybe. There would probably be much discussion as his slices would have to be much larger.

A dog's sense of smell is incredible. Their addiction to fruit, many vegetables and compost, too, can be a threat to health. Not all fruit is under consideration. Grapes, raisins, currants, onions, garlic can kill a dog and the seeds, stones, stems of other fruits, as well. In the 'waiting' room, Mall Cop stands, staring at me, with those winsome eyes and loving glare, 'pawing' me in the process with that “Is it time for those delicious looking things” 'Yes, it is, my precious little man.” 

 

I begin to offer the most anticipated cucumbers, then watermelon, both of super food and water fame - follow next. I hold a slice for each dog as he chews his way towards the pith. No one bites me during this feeding frenzy. I will stop and they know it. 

 

They know I am their friend in the kitchen. The slices are left attached to the rind to encourage proper chewing and chomping and to slow them down a bit. Dogs eat too fast for my liking. They all revel in another delicious moment as they arrive at the pith of the watermelon, so misunderstood and ignored, but not now. They savour its tremendous benefits, slowly, when it is offered, not crunching the rind. It is of little benefit and is problematic, too.

We follow the watermelon rules as this tasty detour is taken outside, momentarily, making it easier for me. They follow me, happily and quickly, as the fruit begins to ooze its fragrant juice onto my hands and the surrounding area. But I do not fret. We are outdoors now, on the grassy area, strewn with straw, where messes happen and belong, each dog waiting for his turn at the fountain of fruit. 

 

We go indoors where the blueberries, strawberries, of super food fame, are offered next, held in a certain way, so their skins are punctured and they become one with the body. If given in a bowl on top of their food, blueberries are devoured too quickly, without thought. Hours later, these tiny tender morsels of super health delight are seen outside on the ground, in the waste department, having been mistaken for a laxative. I figured it out. The skins of these berries were not punctured. This expensive 'additive' needs a solution. The body does not inherit their health benefits. Never again. Wasteful and expensive. They are hand-held offerings now to these four precious creatures of mine. As part of a raw diet, certain fruits, along with celery and carrots, become a part of their dental health plan, too. 

Mall Cop stands motionless and fixated, on me, yet again. When it is sleepover time, more is yet to come. He knows. Like the Wiggler, Mall Cop expects the final round, those delicious things called apples. Mentioning the name or spelling the name of these tree fruits only serves to excite them all once again. I must be careful what I say.

 

They all know, these intelligent creatures called dogs. The breed is irrelevant. The more time spent with them, the more they can outwit you, eventually. They know the words. Two on the sofa, with two directly in front of me, on the floor, begin the buffet. They see the slices. They wait their turn, ever so quietly. Red apples or green, it makes no difference to them. The day is routine with predictable results for all. ... Sixteen legs in the kitchen. It seemed so funny at the time. I laugh whenever those words are uttered. So comical and so real. Life is all around me.