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To this day I don’t find it even slightly amusing that Romulus chewed the pantyliner out of my favorite pair of running shorts. I was not amused then and however much I miss him, I do not recall the memory with any sort of sweet nostalgia. Dogs eating things they shouldn’t just doesn’t tend to be funny when it happens to your stuff. You can pretend all you want that the feather on Fido’s nose and the way he innocently cocks his head makes up in cuteness for the ire you feel about massacre of your new goose-down pillow. And no matter how adorable muffin might look cradling your new strappy heel between his little puppy paws, it does not make you any less livid that you won’t be wearing them with that little black dress after all. Destructive behavior just is not an endearing quality in a pet. Except when it become so absurd you just can’t help but laugh.
My parents’ dog Cali (short for Calysto, which follows upon a series of lofty pet names including Newton, Maxwell and Buttonbay’s Singer Gazelle) has a fetish. She loves to eat underwear. Pink panties to be specific. My pink panties. Over the years I have lost numerous pairs to her digestive system. You would think I would have learned not to leave my dirty laundry lying around. I did (for the most part). But Cali in an addict and like all addicts she will find a way to get her fix.
Her first hit came from a laundry basket left in front of the washing machine; it was a seemingly harmless snatching of a rather bland pair of washed-out pink Hanes. I was only mildly irritated at the theft and so simple bonked her on her nose with a strict, “No!” and the holy undies got thrown in with the stash of worn-out briefs we used as cleaning rags (don’t judge). I should never have underestimated that dog’s obsessive tendency. During my freshman year of college I would bring my full hamper home and sort my clothes in piles on the floor. And so the next casualties were purely my own fault. Knowing that dirty underwear were her weakness, I should not have set out such a tempting buffet and expected any different. So I started keeping my laundry out of reach. I thought surely my panties were safe. And so they were for the time being.
One day, just a few days before I left for South Caicos, Cali struck again. I was cleaning my clothes and lying them out in piles on the dining room table to be packed. My mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table talking when Cali trotted by us, out the dog door and into the backyard. Two minutes later my mom sat up straighter, peering out the window with a questioning expression. “What does she have out there?” I looked up and darted outside to save my clean yellow Nike sportsbra from becoming her latest fixation. “Bad Cali! No! No!” I scolded. Cali looked up at me, paused, turned her head and promptly threw up my pink underwear.
The next Christmas I found a gift bag from Cali under the tree containing three new pairs of pink underwear.
A couple of years went by and with my out of state, Cali had little opportunity to dine on her favorite delicacy. She switched to my dad’s handkerchiefs, once even snatching his wallet and on one memorable occasion straight up eating his Japanese kimono (one of those not at all funny moments, at least for my father).
So from whence did the idea come for me to retell the stories from her panty lovin’ days? Well, I’m back home and a few days ago, after picking up the poop littering the backyard, my mom broke the news.
“Hon, did you have a pair of underwear with bright pink and black stripes?”
“Uh, yeah, I do. I rather like them, why?”
“Well, I just found them in about six different poopies.”
I have no idea how Cali managed to get a hold of them, and that is the strange part. I’ll have to be careful now – despite her bulk her pretty pink panty thieving skills have gone ninja and she’s got the taste fresh in her memory.
As always I got caught up in life and forgot to be a diligent blogger. But here I am back in action and ready to update you on why I have been so carelessly absent for the last few weeks.
My primary reason for truancy is my new job at Goodfellow Farms. I work in the country store where they sell an assortment of fruits and vegetables, quality meats and cheeses and goods that can be desperately hard, or impossible, to come by elsewhere on the island. Essential items such as, oh, tahini. They also serve lunch and a damn fine one at that, most of the dishes beautifully arranged over the top of their island grown greens complete with in-house dressing made from the herbs as fresh as herbs come. Working their is an experience in and of itself that I am sure will get plenty of blog time, especially considering the potential new development. What’s that? I am going to start baking goodies to sell in the store. The idea came upon me when staring at a slice of CostCo apple pie that had been in the walk in fridge for a week, sliced up and set out for a day, put back in the fridge overnight and then finally sold for $6. The sad piece of pie at that point was practically wilted. Besides, it was a pie from CostCo, which in my opinion just is not worth the calories in the first place. I happen to make a fantastic apple pie with simple, delicious ingredients that is also quite aesthetically pleasing. And so I am going to bake one to sell in during lunch time. I pitched the idea to the boss and he was all for it – in fact, he gave me the go ahead to add ingredients for other baking projects to his “Florida list” and bake my little heart out. That is exactly what I am going to do.
In other baking news, I am somewhat proud and somewhat sheepish to announce that at the end of the day I will have baked not one, but TWO batches of cinnamon rolls. Here’s the story, and a common tale to be sure. Last night I told Chris I would either do cinnamon rolls or waffles in the morning – both recipes requiring night-before preparation. He chose cinnamon rolls and since I am not in possession of the tried and true Hester recipe, I went to tastespotting and sorted through their selection. I chose one that required a long rise because that usually means a lighter, more delicate roll. So I prepared my dough and set in the fridge to rise. First of all, the 7 hour rise should have been at 60 degrees, but try achieving that in the Bahamas in May (though putting them in the bedroom where we run the AC would probably have been the better option). I woke up at 7 am and took them out of the fridge and placed them on the counter, disappointed to see that they had not risen nearly enough. Two and a half hours later I got out of bed and looked at them again. Progress. I went to look at the rest of the recipe. For the first time. Yes, I did not read through the whole recipe, assuming that the long rise was the overnight rise and would surely be followed by a short rise. I was wrong. The sequence of this recipe is long rise, over night rise, short rise. Well, we were not going to be having those cinnamon rolls any time soon. So I left them on the counter to rise, deciding that letting the dough rise at 85 degrees during the day would mean that I could bake them in the evening and at least have them as a sweet treat. But the truth remained that I had promised Chris cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I had noticed the previous night a couple of recipes that declared themselves “quick”. I had scoffed then, but “quick” is just what I needed. And I found it. Cinnamon rolls in less than an hour.
I set out to make them. The trick, of course, is that you use baking powder and baking soda instead of yeast. First I realized that I didn’t have quite enough white flour, so about 1/4 cup of whole wheat got incorporated into it straight away. Then I realized that I had still yet to knead about a half cup more flour into the dough to make it into a dough and not a batter. The recipe does not detail this little fact, nor does it warn the first timer that it makes an absolute mess. You spoon the “dough” onto a flat surface, “sprinkle” with flour and gently knead it until the dough becomes smooth and pliable. Yet at the end of it, I actually came out with a tasty product – though these were definitely rolls that called for the powdered sugar (and vanilla) glaze.
This shot was taken in the evening, so imagine them a bit more shiney and gooey.
My first batch certainly fulfilled the cinnamon roll requirement. But take a look at the second batch – now just enchiladas away from being put in the oven.
They are huge and beautiful and yeasty and light – everything cinnamon rolls should be. I rather doubt they will require any icing. Recipe to come – once I take time to actually figure out what I actually did and put it on a time line that produces cinnamon rolls at 9 am and not 9 pm.
The oven is currently occupied, however, by these:
Homemade enchiladas ready to go in the oven. That’s homemade cornmeal tortillas and homemade enchilada sauce. I cannot take credit for either – that was Chris’s handiwork. We needed a little Mexican food and a couple Coronas as a little shout out to Cinco de Mayo. One day I’ll share the recipe for this enchilada sauce because it beats any enchilada sauce I have had. And I grew up in Arizona where you get good Mexican food. But that is a treat for another day.
By the look of things it may seem like we spent all day in the kitchen. I assure you not. We managed to drive all the way around the island too – or 3/4 the way around the island. We cut off the western edge. Along with our culinary escapades, Chris also embarked on a little home improvement project. Summer time is here and so happiness now depends on having the front and back doors open allowing the fabulous evening breeze to cool off the house. Unfortunately, the breeze is not the only thing that comes through the open doors and I am no fan of mosquitoes. Today, however, we went to Kelly’s and bought screening to hang in the doorways. And so now we sit, doors open and guarded against bloodsuckers.
We also went and visited Gidget. Oh Gidget – how could I not have taken some time out to write about her? The short tale is that we found her at the Mall at Marathon and after a little loving she practically followed us home. Okay, we had to coax her into the car with a piece of chicken. She is the sweetest potcake you’ll ever meet. We took her home, bathed her and gave her a flea treatment. Here she is that first night:
You’ll have to excuse the fact that the picture is not quality – I had a few other things on my mind. Like petting Gidget.
The next morning we took her to the humane society where we had to wait 10 days to make sure she was not someone’s lost pet. Of course she wasn’t – we knew that from the get go. Now she is getting treatment for a fungal skin problem and will be spayed in the next few days. After that she’ll be ready to be taken home.
When we found her she could not put weight on her back right leg and today she was bouncing all over the place. The foot healed – though it is turned in a little bit. We were so happy to see her doing well. We are still trying to figure out if we are going to get to keep her. So far our landlord says no because of the neighboring dogs, but we’re still hopeful that we can convince her that it won’t be a problem. She’ll be an indoor dog and I’ll take her elsewhere to walk her.
So now, a couple hours after starting this post, I am full of enchilada and the house smells like delicious cinnamon rolls. A fantastic ending to the day!
