It’s Not All Mary Poppins

There’s sad and there’s sad

newt1I am baking brownies for dessert. Which, if you knew our family at all, would tell you we’re having guests over to dinner. Tell my children we’re having company, and the response is not “Who’s coming?” but “Yay! Dessert!”

Timmy and Anna are playing quietly at my feet. They have woken up a little earlier than the other children, and are thus allowed to play in the kitchen (the furthest end of the house from the stairs), and QUIETLY. If they don’t play quietly, they must go lie down again until the others wake.

Thus, they are playing quietly. Which is little short of a miracle, since they are my two loudest children. Though, come to that, Tyler is emerging as a considerable auditory force. Once he gets some actual vocabulary, the windows, they will be a-rattling. (And my eardrums, oh, mercy me, my poor eardrums.)

They are playing quietly, and I am making brownies. And, because these are brownies for guests, and, because our oven is stuck at 400 degrees (as it has been for the last four years), I am diligently cutting off the slightly-too-dry edges. (The hostess double-standard: For my own family? They can crunch their way into the centre. For company? Perfectly soft’n’chewy brownies, from edge to edge.)

Apart from crunchiness, there is nothing wrong with the centimetre-wide strips of brownie I’m left with…

Lucky Timmy and Anna.

“Here guys. You want some brownies?”
(That, boys and girls, is what is called a “rhetorical” question.)
“Now, be careful. Chocolate is bad for dogs. You mustn’t give any to Indie. It could make her sick.”
“And maybe even DIIIIEEE!” Which could have been said with far less exuberant relish, perhaps, but the content is accurate enough.
“Yes, Anna. Enough chocolate could even make her die. That would be very sad.”
“That would be very sad.” Timmy is showing a more appropriate level of concern, perhaps because he’s had some personal experience in pet-bereavement. Or, as it turns out, second-hand experience. “My mummy’s newt died, and she was very sad.”
“Your mummy had a newt?”
“Yes, and it died. And she was very sad.”
“Not as sad as for a dog, I think.”
He doesn’t lose a beat.
“No. Prolly not.”

February 19, 2009 - Posted by | Anna, food, health and safety, the dog, Timmy | , , , , , , ,


  1. The extra crispy edges are my absolute favorite part of brownies. Now I’m hungry.

    If you’d have been here, I’m sure they’d have shared!

    Comment by ktjrdn | February 19, 2009 | Reply

  2. My dog ate one and a half layers of a chocolate cake once (when I wasn’t around to see it happen, of course). She was fine. I have yet to figure out what her stomach is made of – she has eaten all sorts of weird things without the slightest distress. Even so, we make sure to keep chocolate out of her reach – we might not get so lucky the next time.

    It depends on how dark the chocolate is. The darker, the more poisonous. I asked a vet friend, who told me that if (45-pound) Indie got into a can of cocoa powder, it would probably kill her, but that a milk chocolate bar would probably just make her puke. We know about the milk chocolate because of some Hershey’s kisses, COMPLETE WITH FOIL, that were ingested… and then made their sparkly reappearance some while later. Bleah. Had she not puked, we’d have taken her to the vet.

    Comment by Florinda | February 19, 2009 | Reply

  3. Yeah, when my sister’s newt died, I don’t think she was even sad at all. But the dog? Sad.

    Comment by kittenpie | February 21, 2009 | Reply

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