April 9 – My tale (tail?) of morning destruction.

     Though I’m nearly the perfect dog, I must admit to one failing.  My dog-gone tail.  It gets me into trouble continually though I do my best to control it.  Sometimes I think it has a mind of its own, for the darned thing just does what it wants, when it wants, and I have no control over it.
     Mrs. G calls it the feather duster of doom, the Geezer says it’s a wrecking ball operated by a terrorist, and I have to admit the results of its innocent wagging might create a call to reclassify it as a weapon of mass destruction.  Its claimed more knickknacks than a two-year-old toddler, spilled more milk than the cats can lap up (and we have two of them), has swept money off coffee tables and under furniture, and has decorated numerous pieces of cake and under food items left on end tables.
     You would think humans would be wise enough to realize that more careful placement of items they’d rather not place in the trash is necessary.  That’s what canine logic would declare as an imperative.  Humans… not so much.  Remember we’re talking an inferior species here.  There are many points you can use to prove this, but let me suggest you look at any TV news broadcast as evidence and listen to the yapping homo sapiens politicos.  The result?  In the end, not much happens.  If those idiots on both ends of the political spectrum were canine “leaders” we’d gather them all up, dig a large hole, and bury them.  That thing humans call voting certainly doesn’t seem to work.
     The reason for my comments is what happened this morning.  The Geezer fixed one of his special breakfasts for he and Mrs. Gator.  Eggs Bokeelia.  Now, being a well-trained human, he fixed my breakfast first.  But, I have a hearty appetite, and I’ve learned that if the humans aren’t at their dining table, they’re more likely to share what they’re eating.  That’s particularly true if I stand at attention and stare intensely at what they’re shoveling into their pie holes.
     Rather than eat at the kitchen bar, they chose to watch TV and deposit the dishes crammed full of Eggs Bokeelia on the coffee and end tables.  Since they sat on opposite legs of the “L” created by the couch and recliner, it was only prudent I locate my body in the middle where I could quickly present my food entry point to either the Geezer or Mrs. G. 
    As another reminder of what kind of species we’re working with here, humans just don’t learn from history.  The Geezer KNOWS what happens when he feeds me a treat, the tail goes on automatic full wag.  He broke off a piece of toast and snuck it to me as Mrs. G was focused on the TV.
     The tail’s response was predictable.  To have my food receiving end by the Geezer, my food removal end was positioned by the apex of the “L” and the end table Mrs. G’s breakfast sat on.  Swish, swish, swish, swish, my tail spread Eggs Bokeelia on Mrs. G’s banana, her coffee cup, and coated the wood surface with Bokeelia sauce.  When Mrs. G said, “Sandy!” my focus was on the possibility of additional charitable contributions.
     I quickly reversed the positions of my ends, my tail remaining in wag over-drive in anticipation of Mrs. G’s donation.  Unfortunately, The Geezer, his mental gears rusted by age, foolishly had placed his cup on the coffee table.  One mighty sweep of the tail turned over the cup sending coffee flooding over “Southern Living,” “National Geographic,” and a half-dozen more magazines resting there.  The return swish sent the mug off the table to the tiled floor.  Hint, the tile floor is tougher than ceramic cups.  It was smash town.  Thousand piece city.
    The Geezer quickly arrested the movement of my tail.  He removed the Eggs Bokeelia from it, looked at the remains of his creation mournfully, before Mrs. G warned, “Don’t you even think about it.”
     Can you believe the audacity of humans.  They had the nerve to banish me to the bedroom!  Can you imagine them blaming me for their lack of gray matter?  Well, at least, the Geezer did a poor job of removing the Eggs Bokeelia.  As the Geezer cleaned up and recooked breakfast, I finished his tail cleaning job while sequestered.  Yum! 
     Since you wouldn’t know what Eggs Bokeelia is (It’s the Geezer’s concoction) I’ll share the recipe.  Try it, you’ll like it.  
     For Eggs Bokeelia. See below:
1 – start with half of a toasted English Muffin, as fattening as you wish to make it – wheat or whatever.
2 – heat a slice of ham in a skillet then stack it on the muffin – (a thin slice of tomato is okay for ham haters)
3 – place a slice of america cheese on the ham (or whatever)
4 – cook one egg, sunny side up, over-easy, or poached (if you like to go to trouble) – it goes on top of the cheese.
Top the stack with Bokeelia Sauce which is:
2 – tablespoons of mayo
2 – tablespoons of butter or I Can’t Believe or (you know the drill)
4 – green olives w/pimento diced finely
1 – Tablespoon of finely diced mushroom
1 – Tablespoon of finely diced onion (you can substitute garlic if you’re brave)
Nuke for 30 seconds in ‘wave (or heat over campfire, stove, et al), stir and spoon over stack.  Makes enough for four.  Yum-Yum.


12 thoughts on “April 9 – My tale (tail?) of morning destruction.

  1. Oh, Sandy, it’s not your fault that you were born with a super duper feather sweeper. Thanks for sharing this hilarious story about your tail—I’ll be sure to move out of your path the next time your tail is about to get into a destructive mode 😀

  2. I was just about to ask about Eggs, boukeelia [?] till I saw the recipe, sounds good, And Sandy I apologise for neglecting you, I do recall I have posted in here before, but as I didn’t get any follow ups I had obviously let it slip my mind, sorry, you can see my comment in your Welcome tab. Thanks you so much for visiting my site and giving encouraging words, I needed them.

  3. My brother Happy also has a big floofy tail and he often knocks things over! My dad says we don’t need a feather duster because we have Happy’s floofy tail!

  4. hey Sandy – it’s their fault for putting human stuff in the way of our amazing tails. My dad leaves a glass of red wine on the coffee table and that’s always my clue to walk between the coffee table and the couch with my happy tail just swishing all over the place…and red wine going everywhere. They never learn do they? heh heh

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