Hey y’all. I hope you’re all having a wonderful day. Today I’m coming to you from my couch (my favorite place), sipping on an iced coffee with cream and sugar (my favorite drink). The patio door is open, and the crisp Boston air is swirling in. The Profit is on, and I’m enjoy myself. It’s my week off of work, and I feel like myself again.
This past week it was Cormac’s first birthday. We wanted to make something special out of it, so my fiance went to Whole Foods and bought Cormac a strip steak. Before we get into Cormac enjoying this beautiful steak, I want to take you back about three weeks ago when my fiancé lovingly cleaned my cast iron pan after dinner… except the brush he had used was the one I had used to clean the shower floor with, after I accidentally left the brush on the counter. I was disgusted by the thought of this, and had intended to clean my pan again after this incident, but life got away from me, and there the pan sat, week after week, seemingly “clean.”
Fast forward to Cormac’s birthday, when I walk in the front door and see Cormac’s beautiful steak sizzling on the cast iron pan. “Not the shower pan!!!” I exclaim, but alas it is too late. After exchanging some profanities, cleaning the pan, and recooking his steak… Cormac still got a meal fit for a king. We cut it up into bite sized pieces, put it in his dish, and he scarfed it down in about 2.5 seconds, and then looked around for more. Then he got a doggie birthday cake. My little prince.
We put some cheese and cracker plates together, went outside, and threw some hamburgers on the grill. The Lord Hobo flowed, EEE-infested mosquitoes swirled around our heads, and the hamburgs sizzled. Cormac ran around the courtyard with his friends.
Next thing I knew, Cormac jumped up onto the raised garden bed and began digging in the dirt. I walked over to reprimand him when he suddenly emerged from the brush with an unidentified object in his mouth. It was dark, so it took a minute for my eyes to focus on what it was. Finally, I made out a spine and other bones surrounded by fur.
Screams of fear and disgust ensued at the realization that my beautiful baby boy was carrying around a decaying rabbit dug up from its grave. The surgeon in the group took the grilling tongs, fished the rabbit from the garden bed, and threw it away (yes, along with the tongs). That night, Cormac got a lot of doggy toothpaste and a bath. Poor baby Cormac was just being the dog he is and presenting me with his cool new gift, but it was still pretty gross.
Despite the mishaps, overall I think Mr Cormac had a pretty awesome day. He went to bed with a belly full of steak and with legs tired after playing with friends. Oh, and with the taste of dead rabbit in his mouth. What more could a dog ask for?