Barkers Can't Be Choosers

Dad finally went to the grocery story and stocked the refrigerator, which means he was able to make a meal for himself rather than dropping dough on a burrito or a buffet. It's no fun when he eats out because Orsa and I get left in the back of the truck while he feeds his face.

We've been in this house for two weeks with no people food, so I just discovered that our new kitchen isn't as "cooking together friendly" as the old one. There's nowhere to lay down while I wait for Dad to make a mess.

The minute I got comfortable, Dad needed to open that specific cabinet door. Then once I moved, he needed to open that cabinet door. It was agGRRRvating! What am I gonna do? I look forward to those vittles from heaven.

Then again, I doubt he'll pick up anything that drops on the floor. I just have to be patient, like earlier, when he spilled some coffee beans.

Why he puts food in a vase and thinks it smells good is beyond me, but I'm glad he does, because a few of the beans provided me an afternoon snack. They started pleasant enough but finished with a bitter taste. I'm not complaining though; barkers can't be choosers.

B.