The Bacon Spankin'

Yeah, so I got my butt beat today over some bacon. Dad really let me have it. (But it was totally worth it!)

Let me back up. Mom got up this morning and started making breakfast like she normally does on Sundays. She usually makes some form of french toast that involves strawberries. Now strawberries are pretty good, but they make me shudder. They can be too sour. Mom gives me strawberry slices sometimes, and I'm reluctant to eat them right away, but then she'll lean in to take them back! That's when I gobble `em up. I'm thinkin', "Hey, you gave it to me! Just give me some time to decide what to do with it. No take-backsies allowed . . ."

But this morning, Mom didn't make french toast. This morning, I saw Mom take out three pans and proceed to open up three different packages. One was a carton of eggs. (Mmm, yeah, eggs are good.) The other was some tube of pink stuff---oh yeah, sausage! And the other---oh, the glorious other---package was of a texture and scent all-too-familiar. It's really a thing of weakness for dogs. Many of us lose our minds over even a whiff of the stuff. Yes, I'm talking about bacon.

Mom gets everything situated in the pans, and then I hear it all sizzling after a while. Sure, the sausage smells good, but it's got all kinds of other stuff in it. But oh, the bacon---the pure, unadulterated, smoked bacon. Now that'll get'cha. The smell wafting into my nostrils has me hypnotized as I watch Mom cooking.

In the meantime, she's microwaved a potato, which in my opinion is just a mouthful of bleh. (Don't get me wrong, though, I'll eat potato if there's nothing else.) Then she gets out some tortillas. (Yeah, those are nothin' special either.) Guess she's making breakfast burritos.

Once all the food is ready, she calls for Dad to come eat. (She never calls for me when it's time to eat. I guess she figures that since I'm usually standing right at her feet while she cooks, she doesn't need to.) One thing I know about Dad is that he loves bacon, too. But I'm not sure that he loves bacon as much as I do . . .

So Mom and Dad grab some tortillas and wrap up the eggs, bacon, sausage, and potato into burritos, and then they go sit down on the couch to eat. And all the while, Mom never even gave me a lick of bacon! The nerve. But then I notice something hanging over the counter. Paper towel? Hmm, that's funny. What would a paper towel be doing . . . oh, wait. Mom used a paper towel to wrap up the bacon. Could this be the same paper towel? There's only one way to find out . . . I pull it down on the floor, and lo and behold, the bacon comes down with it.

Now what happens next is all a bit of a blur. I remember savagely eating up all the bacon, grease, paper towel, and paper plate I could get to. I don't think I even breathed while this was happening. Next thing I knew, Dad had a hold of me, and I was growling and snarling to claim what was rightfully mine. (All humans should know that when food hits the floor, it belongs to the dog now.) And after a couple of smacks to the butt and a shove out the back door, it was over.

I stood outside in the snow, a bit dazed after what had just happened, and yet this sense of triumph came over me as I licked the bacon grease from my face. I had won. Dad may have won the battle, but I had won the war. That bacon was all mine---and it was all gone.

Yeah, I may have ticked Dad off a little. But I decided he'd get over it after a while. I mean, how can you hold a grudge against a dog as cute as I am? Impossible, right?

So Mom and Dad go to church after that, and I get to bask in the bliss of having a bacon-filled tummy for a few hours. Then they come home, pat me on the head, and Dad goes into the bedroom and shuts the door. Mom says he's doing homework, but I think he's pouting over the bacon incident. Ah well. Life isn't always fair. There's just not enough bacon in the world to satisfy everybody, so you've gotta fight for it. And today, I won!