When I took them out of the oven, Ray was right there with his nose inches from the hot baking sheet. I shooed him away, removed the scones to a rack to cool and left the kitchen to go sit on the couch. Ray followed me into the living room for awhile then got up to meander back into the kitchen. By this time I was occupied with petting the creaky old cat.
"Could you check on the dog?" I asked Gregg.
My lovely husband went to cast a hairy eyeball on the hound.
"What's he up to?"I asked curiously.
"Nothing," said Gregg, "He just sniffed the scones and snorted."
Gregg retreated upstairs to prepare for Moonie's juicing, then came to get the old girl. Followed by my trusty hound, I went to the kitchen to try one of the biscuity-looking baked goods. As soon as I broke it in half to behold its flaky interior, Ray jumped up to put his front feet on my chest. He has only does this three or four times in the entire time that I've had him, mainly when I have something that he is verrrrry interested in having himself. It's very gently done, with no pushing or shoving involved; I'm just there for balance.
Ray's nose was twitching maniacally, his feet still on my chest. I held my scone under his nose for second and almost lost it to his tongue. I broke off a small crumb and gave it to him.
Usually, Ray will take whatever is offered, mouth it a bit, and then spit it out on the floor. Given his interested reaction to the scones, I was only slightly surprised when he ate the bit I gave him and asked for more. I gave him one more tiny little piece. He ate it with relish (figuratively).
|Anti-Ray-theft protection system.|
As soon as I sat on the couch, Ray's head was in my lap sniffing for scones. I held my plate in the air, shoved his head aside, took a bite of scone, then quickly moved my plate back in the air as the dog head reappeared in my lap.
Gregg came downstairs and prepared himself a scone-breakfast, then went to the garage to fetch some fizzy apple juice from the reserve fridge. Ray wandered off to the kitchen. My Ray-dar went on high alert. I heard a plate move on the counter.
Since no humans were currently in the kitchen, and I was pretty sure we didn't have poltergeist, I jumped from the couch and raced in to catch the English Coonhound (aka Redtick Coonhound) red-pawed. His front feet were on the counter and his neck was stretched to maximum stretchiness trying to lick the scone from Gregg's plate.
I know he can't help himself. It's the English influence.
|Dreaming of tea and scones.|