Month: August 2017

A Dog’s Sweet Tail

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Pizzelle; traditional Italian cookie

By Abby, Havertown, PA

My favorite ornament – that’s easy. It’s the dog’s paw with my name on it – Abby.

My family put it up high on the tree to make sure that I can’t get to it. Pity. It’s really the only one I like. The only one I can reach is that silly stuffed Sponge Bob one that hangs off the bottom branch. Yeah, Bob looks real good in that Santa hat (please note the sarcasm.)

This is my third Christmas with my family. I am hoping for something more than a bone and fuzzy faux-animal that squeaks. How about a burger with my food? Or bacon? Yeah…bacon.

I like to get presents. Beside food I could really go for a nice chew toy. Or a new ball. A soft, fuzzy blanket to lie on. Or better yet — How ‘bout throwing the dog a bone!

If you don’t have a bone, then throw me a pizzelle. Yeah, a nice sweet pizzelle.

My family made these pizzelle’s this year. I heard the name when they were baking but didn’t really know what they were.

I think they added a little too much of something because the smell is driving me nuts. It’s taunting me from on top of the stove. It keeps drawing me in. Drawing me in. Drawing me in.

Hmmm. I can’t get to them, not without making a lot of noise and attracting attention.

Hey, I’m no fool. I know if they see me trying to get to those pizzelles they will put them somewhere where I have no shot to get them. At least where they are now I can leap and leap and maybe eventually get them to move a little so I could snatch them.

So I’ll wait. And plot. And scheme. But I don’t know how much more I can take before I try to get them  –no matter what.

Ok. Finally. A break. I see the family getting a lot of the bags and gifts together and putting on their coats. I think they’ll be gone for a while.

Here it is — my chance.

The house is empty except for me and those sweet, sweet, sweet pizzelles.

I leap once to get to the tray. No luck. I leap again. No luck. Here comes my third leap. BAM! Got it.

Yikes! The tray went flying, some kind powder got all over me. But the pizzelle’s are MINE! No savoring them for me — just gobble them up. Pizzelle pieces flying everywhere as I dig into the whole batch. I don’t know, 10. Maybe 20 of them. Who cares!?

Hmmmm … something else. When I leaped to get the pizzelles I tipped over a bottle of something and the liquid is leaking out. Think I’ll try it.

WOW! That is very sweet. And it kinda tastes like the pizzelles.

I am thirsty. Let me go to the water bowl. Drink. Drink. Drink.

Drained it.

Oh, boy. I am walking around the house with less purpose than usual. Yep, around the living room. In the TV room.  In the kitchen. Oops, bumped into the dining room table.

Think I’ll just settle down for a while and rest.

UH OH! I hear the car. WHAT — they’re back already! I thought that this would be a long outside visit. What am I going to do? They’ll see the pizzelles. They’ll know I got into them. They’ll see the bottle. Well, they were going to find out anyway.

I. Think. I. Am. In. Trouble. Maybe if I give them my biggest happy smile and wag, wag, wag.

Something’s wrong. I’m standing up but can’t feel my legs. Hey, there they are. Maybe. Let me walk in a circle. I think I’m in a circle. Oh no! The door is opening.

“Abby! Hello Abby!” I hear the big guy say.

“Abby!” It was a harsh screech from Mom. “Abby, what did you do?”

“What’s up?” It was the big guy again.

Concentrate Abby. Concentrate. Wag. Wag. Wag your tail off!

“Abby got into the pizzelles!”

“You’re kidding? How many did she get?”

Wag. Wag. Wag.

“Looks like ALL of them”

“All of them?!”

Busted. More than busted.

“Abby, you ate all the pizzelles!”

Of course I did — what did you expect? I’m a dog.

“Oh, no,” I heard Mom cry. “She knocked over the bottle of Anisette and the rest of it is gone.”

Anisette? So that is what that liquid was. Pretty good.


Now, I am feeling a little woozy. I slowly started walking around. My tail was wagging — slowly. V..E..R..Y   S..L..O..W..L..Y.

“What’s wrong with Abby?” little blondie says. I faintly hear her.

The big guy points to me, “Look at her, she’s standing crooked, just licking her chops.”

“It looks like she’s smiling at me…but it’s not a smile…”

“She looks…”

“She looks..”

“She looks drunk!” It was Mom that first pointed it out.

“How could she be drunk?” It was little blondie.

Mom and the big guy looked at each other. “The pizzelles! The Anisette!”

Yep. Mom had made the pizzelles and apparently loaded them with Anisette. Then I had the good luck to drink the rest of the bottle when it tipped over.

“The Anisette should have burned off in the baking” Mom said. “I only put in enough for taste!”

Yep. Enough for taste. Great taste.

“But she also got into the Anisette. Is that good for her?” the big guy seemed concerned.

No need to be concerned – I am a very happy dog right now.

“Look at Abby — she looks like a crooked letter ‘S’”

“Oh, Abby — are you OK”

Hey, doin’ just fine. Doin’ just fine and looking to stumble on over to my blanket and lay down.

I slept. A nice, deep sleep. No visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. Just sweet, sweet pizzelles.

I was the lucky one who got to sample the pizzelles – all of them — and wash them down with straight Anisette. Pizzelles may have just taken over from bacon as my favorite food.

Another change — I am changing my mind as to my favorite ornament —  it is no longer the one with the paw but instead the new one they just got.

The one shaped like a pizzelle.

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