We woke up Sunday to a windy, rainy, balmy wet day. Feeling a little housebound, we decided to head out for brunch to kill a little time before the weather improved. I LOVE Sunday brunch. It's the best part of a weekend, as far as I'm concerned.
My favourite of all Sunday brunches were spent with my old friend, Nancy, at Provence Marinaside. We would sip mimosas, eat chocolate croissants and fluffy scrambled eggs with lamb sausage. Set on the Vancouver waterfront, the scenery was spectacular, the company was wonderful and the food was amazing. Loved those Sundays.
Now days, Sunday brunches are different. The menu is a bit less sophisticated, I guzzle coffee by the liter and accompanying me are a toddler in a pink ballet outfit practicing her grand jetées between tables, a little guy whose smile lights up the room and a wonderful man with bags under his eyes as heavy as my own. I love these Sundays just as much.
This Sunday found the four of us out at Land's End. We were up early, took one look at the weather and decided to go linger over brunch. It was so windy and rainy that the dog categorically refused to venture outside.
Ever since Milton became a chronic checker of sleeping people and barker at all things that go bump in the night, he sleeps in the garage. He's got a comfy bed out there, lots of water and he's kept nice and warm. When the wind blows from a certain direction, the garage smells a bit gassy. It makes us nervous so on windy days, he gets to stay in the house.
Sunday was windy and when we left for brunch, we decided to let Milton stay in the house. Now, somewhere along the way, Milton became an elite counter surfer. It's really impressive what that dog can nab. I've even known him to steal things from the bottom of the sink. I really don't know how he could have reached the bottom of the sink unless he was standing on the counter. I actually wouldn't put that past him.
So before we leave him, Hunter and I both comb the kitchen for things we think Milton will pull down. One of us does the initial run through and the other goes through more critically, thinking, "He wouldn't, would he? Hmmm, he might." We put up the usual suspects on a kitchen counter fruit and vegetables, bread, cereal and chocolate. Cookies in a cookie jar get put on top of the fridge and so does any Tupperware container of baked goods. We learned the hard way and we leave nothing to chance. Not much, anyway.
This time, it was baby formula.
We came home from our lovely brunch/impromptu toddler ballet recital to find Milton trying to pry the lid off of our emergency can of powdered baby formula he pulled down from the very back of the counter. He punctured the lid with his teeth and was trying to work it off to get at what was inside. What dog eats dry baby formula? It's sealed up in a metal container, how did he even know it was edible?
After we took the formula away, we noticed that he'd pulled down Toddler's fruit puree and punctured the pouch. Obviously spinach, pears and peas wasn't to his liking. We both figured that the pouches were so well packaged that the dog wouldn't know they were food. Clearly, he did.
I wish dogs had a better sense of cause and effect. I would love to have Milton work off the expensive container of formula he stole with chores like pulling the kids in the sled, shoveling the driveway or folding laundry. I would even appreciate him getting online and ordering the pouches of pureed fruit and vegetables that Toddler likes because they're the only vegetables she eats and I need them to keep me from feeling like the worst mother on the planet.
Sadly dogs haven't evolved that far yet. All I got to do was call him a jerk. It wasn't very satisfying.