'Splitting the Entree' Surcharge

The writer to the newspaper seemed miffed: the $5.00 surcharge for splitting the entree was a surprise and inappropriate. It shouldn't have happen. But for Momsey, it seemed a reasonable request. Restaurants exist to provide the public with a dining-out experience. They exist to make money - as any business does.

When we dine out, we are not simply paying for food. We are paying for the intangibles: time, attention and the 'ghost' efforts of those who are not in attendance. The food has been chosen, stored, prepared, cooked and delivered to us in rented 'exotic' environments. The trained staff are creating a dining experience that we cannot or do not want to create at home. These professional, on-duty wait staff, are our hand maidens or butlers for brief moments in time.

One of the oldest 'traditions' is the complimentary glass of water, never charged, but brought to our table, nonetheless, with ice added. There is no profit to be made when a glass of water is given. For the few times I dine out, Momsey is on a mini-vacation. My cooking skills are now on sabbatical. Other people are now being 'paid' to do the job I have have been doing, all week long. But wait. In any restaurant, there are several layers of personnel 'behind the scenes' to service our dietary needs as we decide what to eat, drink and how long to stay. There are managers, dishwashers, chefs/cooks, and the ever present wait-staff who labour under time-stamped circumstances. Time is the enemy. We want our food hot or cold. We are paying 'rent' for the space we occupy temporarily, while we dine. In winter, this space is heated.

When we decide to sell our talents to the public a whole new set of rules are put in place. They must. At home, our kitchen is a cluttered space; the food, sometimes, less than acceptable. We are eating our food, not selling it. Our labour is free. Momsey has been known to eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich, as a meal, when alone. When my 'dining-out' dinner entree is more than I can eat, I take it home. I call that a win-win situation for me. I now have another meal included in the cost of the dinner entree I chose the night before. I prefer to pack my own food, anyway. To expect the entree to be split, in the kitchen, without an added cost, is placing an unfair burden on the restaurant. It is a business, after all. When labour costs are involved, the price of anything always increases - as it should.

Years of experience, a particular skill set and 'educational' training are worth their weight in gold. Generally, 50% of any job is the cost of its labour. So it would follow that splitting an entree, in the kitchen, then presenting this half-serving, on a new dinner plate, might cost $5.00. The cost of materials can pale in comparison to the 'worth' of an individual's time and attention to our needs. Receiving the glass of water, as has been the custom since the beginning, is, sometimes, a substitute for the drink, tea or coffee beverage that can help the restaurant's bottom line. Water is like a loss leader, as it is never charged, unless a particular 'brand' of water is ordered. It is incumbent upon us to order and not to expect 'extras' for free. That sort of thing done by enough patrons, over time, only serves to put the eatery at financial risk and perhaps, out of business, one day. With a fast food menu, there are no short cuts and the prices are set, not to be discounted or changed in any way. Wait staff are absent from this eating style. There is no confusion here. As time passes, will some fast-food eateries might begin to feel the breath of the 'All you can eat' buffet on their collective necks as the price of lunch, become one and the same as that of the AYCEB? With the buffet, the selection is unending. Your dietary choices are yours. You are splitting your own entree as you 'walk the line'. It's a one price fits all dietary event. In the formal dining-out experience, the menu selections can be altered to dismiss certain ingredients in a dish or the substitution of others, instead. The integrity of the menu still remains.

Splitting the entree makes sense when we do it. A few places will donate the dinner plate for the exercise and not charge for the second plate, even though nothing has been ordered on it and the plate will be washed later at a cost of labour and utilities. Eating out is a treat. Let us not confuse it with eating at home where labour is free and splitting the entree is simply leftovers for the next day.

Too Cute to Ignore

Our kitty cat turned 14 last month. I have written about her on several occasions, over the past five years, about her frozen, near 'death' arrival, in 2003, her chronic illness and near death experiences. She has taught me many of the truisms of life. She is too cute to ignore, not that that has ever happened.

She captures my heart, time and time again. Our 'just a cat' is special to us. She was our first. I enter her room as 'room service' often does to check on things. She catches my gaze as she lies in her bed, atop the bunk, and nods with recognition and a meow of welcome. Everything gets refreshed, cleaned or replaced with a new cat-sized bowl. (I learned, during her death-defying period, that cats do not like their own saliva and like fresh water, often). (Dogs' standards seem 'different'). 

 

Tiggy saunters down the stairs to the main floor to check on things. Where are the dogs, she muses? Will the pup, Mr. Wiggles, jump and try to chase me or just look at me and wonder how I get to wander all over the universe, with no rules. (Her rules happen at night while she is sequestered in her room till morning.) As I enter her room in the a.m., I am greeted by a this cute little sphinx sitting atop the bunk bed, in her tiny pink fluffy bed, hoping for breakfast. She walks over to the opposite corner of the bed, nearest the door, waiting to be airlifted below.  It is like flying. She loves this. She goes limp. The 'pilot' has a license and knows what she is doing. Upon landing, Tiggy reaches for her morning meal and drink of water. It all tastes so good. Her attempts to visit other rooms to investigate are thwarted. All doors are closed. (She likes water from 'other' places, too). She visits the kitchen to remind me that it is meal time again. “I know,” I reply. “I'll hurry”. 

 

We all need reminders of our duty to our pets and children. Without their 'voices', they might get lost in the duty roster. The kettle boils. I mix the water with her special diet. I tell her to go upstairs where she has been dining, solo, for three years now, saving her unnecessary trips to the 'dining room'. The dry food bowl is fine, for now.

When she was dying, losing weight during a perilous time, two years ago, I was dying inside; my heart, in knots. How could that be? She is 'just a cat' I reminded myself. But, one day, in her weakened state, in a barely audible meow, she left her upstairs 'safe' room, suddenly. I could not find her. What if she died in her weakened state, unable to 'signal' for help because she could not move or cry out for help? But then I looked under the love seat and found her looking up at me with wonder in her eyes and puzzled at my reaction to her escape. 

 

In her room she is safe. Everything she needs is there in her personalized refuelling station. Yogurt was her tipping point, that year, a move that created a cascade of restorative health changes for our smart precious kitty cat. It was at that point, that her weight loss reversed and she began to 'grow' steadily to almost 9 pounds, four months later. I believe Tiggy is my tipping point, having demonstrated, so clearly, that she does things others could never imagine. Life just seems better with her in it. We have not seen the last of her miracles.

Tiggy has rocked my world and now she is content to wander the house, downstairs, looking for action or visit dad as he readies himself for yet another day. Where is 'Sally', Mr. Wiggles or is it Dr. Wiggles, now? The little 3-pound, 9 week-old abandoned kitten, left to die by the side of the road in temperatures hovering around -30 Celsius, made a statement that day and changed my life. She is an adorable, lovable, funny kid who enjoys my company as much as I enjoy hers. She loves her health giving, dry-brushing, that backward toward the heart combing, that destresses her, calms her adrenal glands and makes her cat throwing-up days almost redundant. 

 

She rubs against my back when I come to visit as I lie on the lower bunk bed to talk. She hears me and hopes the night-light will stay on longer for our chit-chat. Those talks are important to us. It is a soothing appreciation of our direct communication. Screen time has absolutely no meaning here.

She walks in front of me to tell me another story of woe: I need more food, my water bowl needs refreshing and where is the brush? I understand. The requests will be filled. I appreciate the reminders. After all, I need her, too. As night time falls, I check on her. It has been a long day. Food seems to be at the root of all of it. Such a human drive, too. I clean out her litter box. Lights out little one. You need sleep and I need a break. See you in the morning, you remarkable little kitty. Thanks for all the lessons.

Orthopedic Surgery: A Dog's Perilous Journey

A new chapter opened up for Mr. Wiggles when his sister underwent major orthopedic surgery, recently, for a torn hind-leg ligament. It was serious stuff, a life-altering injury, if not handled properly. The surgeon chosen was the best in Canada, probably the universe. We could not have asked for better. Failure to have addressed this potentially crippling event, expeditiously, could have enslaved our girl for life. Much was at stake.

It has been nearly three weeks since her surgery. Our girl was an 'ideal' candidate, with perfect blood, lab results and weight, prior to major surgery. The surgical skill and precision required defied the imagination, we soon realized. (Metal pin and screws now reside inside her.) Delaying the surgery would have been a costly mistake, altering her quality of life experience. 

 

Sally is a retriever and retrievers need to run, jump and play. But now, walking at a slow pace, for short periods of time, is part of her new routine for the next three months. She has done well from surgery. It was now my turn to take direction and help her the rest of the way.

Physiotherapy is central to the recovery of any orthopedic patient. With animals it is even more critical since they cannot tell us where it hurts or what we are doing wrong. It is inconceivable to think that they understand the ramifications of 'short cuts'. As a pet owner, I was determined to follow treatment protocols at home. Within days, edema surfaced near the incision site. A doctor's visit alleviated any concerns I might have had. Had restricted exercise and her prescribed medications, addressing inflammation, painkilling and sedation, contributed to this 'wrinkle' in her recovery game?  Probably. No time for investigation, just observation. (Medication has its place whenever surgery has been performed. We couldn't cope without it).

Mr. Wiggles, our in-house expert, affectionately now known as Dr. Wiggles, began to fuss and fidget with his sister. He came with a disclaimer, however. His opinions, on all things retriever, though understood, ethereally, were not wanted at crucial times of exercise. But he was always present, especially when she was being 'helped' out of the house, waiting for her at the bottom of the two concrete stairs, in case she wanted to run with him. I held her tightly. Her ROM (range of motion) exercises were daily reminders of the scope of the injury she'd suffered and my duty to her health, recovery and quality of life.

Dr. Wiggles begins to follow us: the patient and the care-giver, on our daily walks within the fenced area. Therapy sessions, her short leash walking and massage moments, make him acutely aware that things are different and he might be needed to 'wiggle' a happy tune to help. He is the caboose in a very short train, moving slowly behind the locomotive and the passenger compartment, ever so disquietly, or sometimes beside us. He is patient and aware. Her 5-minute slow walks are too slow for him, however. Our Dr. Wiggles wants a more upbeat tempo. His normal routine has been affected. He is trying to figure out this new math. Shorter walks, in the pen, lasting 5 minutes, means less for him, he surmises. But this new family routine will be different, not less. Dr. Wiggles begins to run and play, with lattice ball in mouth, releasing his pent up energy deep inside. His one hour per day of retriever time will be maintained throughout her recovery period. His health matters, too, I tell him.

They were no longer the awesome couple of the run-bump-grab. Hockey was definitely out of the question, now. Had her injury occurred during one of their brief minute brawls? He was always following her as she was the boss of him. But now he seemed lost. There were to be no stairs for Sally, without assistance. No running or jumping, either, for her. A special sling for supporting her hind end, when going up or down the two stairs, leading outside, began in earnest and for walking, also, to avoid tripping or falling. Weight bearing exercises, by week four, became important. Perhaps a 'saddle' was needed for bearing down on all four legs, a few minutes per day. The baby-gate helps immeasurably in containing her world view of things. Sometimes, sudden noises make her jump and run. Her 'cone' helped to displace her senses further while the 'gate' contained her. The cage was used in emergencies only and when no one was there for supervision.

With his 'dogtorate' degree, in paw, our sweet, sometimes annoying Dr. Wiggles, begins to administer to his sister, the 8-year-old former runner, jumper, hockey player. Without warning, he approaches her, head-on, reminding her of the good ole' days with the ball she used to tug. She cannot carry on as before, perhaps later. We must toil together till we reach the finish line, two months from now, I tell him. Does he understand?

How her injury occurred is of no consequence now. It happened. 'Sally' began hobbling 6 weeks ago. We hoped it was a sprain. We were wrong. (We had kept her on leash, until seen by her doctor). Two weeks later, she had surgery. She is a great patient, being reminded often to stay. The sofa is off limits, till further notice, so I sleep on it, at night, to keep her at bay. She gazes at it, as nighttime approaches, hoping I will change my mind. I will not. Retrievers have minds of their own, too.It is in their DNA.

Orthopedic surgeries can re-occur. In life, if it happens once, it can happen again, whatever it is. Alas, we do not need an encore performance. I follow the step-by-step detailed instructions from her illustrious surgeon. I study the home-care instructions. There are many in this week by week rehabilitation synopsis. There is method to his plan. Her plastic 'cone' stops her from licking her incision but that was never a problem. She is 2 weeks ahead of her recovery schedule and walking/standing well. Her doctor and her surgeon are pleased. The use of the plastic collar continues as it curtails her inclination to move quickly and jump when I am not close by. 

 

She stays quiet and is reminded of her special circumstance. Dr. Wiggles is watching and wondering when order will be restored. He tries to excite Sally to play with him but all attempts fail. We are watching him, too. If this can happen to her, it can happen to him.