Once a long time ago we had a dog we named Penny. She was part basset hound and part
beagle. She was a friendly dog, and
loved my sons. We weren’t the best of
pet owners, training wasn’t our strong suit, though we tried. Well, one day she decided to try chasing a
car, and got nipped. Thankfully she
survived this experience pretty much unscathed, except for a broken tail, which
eventually shriveled up to the break and left her with more of a stub.
Well, Penny had a passion for food. If the boys weren’t careful she’d sneak food
right off their plates, or out of their hands, whichever the case may be. She was a great help when it came to getting
the boys to stop eating in the living room.
She couldn’t reach the table.
One day I decided I was going to bake cinnamon rolls. Our house was drafty and since we heated with
a wood stove which was in the basement, the best place to find warmth was at
the top of the stairway. And anyone who
wants to raise bread dough of any kind needs warmth.
So, I looked around to make certain Penny was otherwise
occupied - sleeping, thank goodness – and felt it was safe to put the pans of
carefully prepared rolls on chairs at the top of the stairs. Then I promptly went into the laundry room to
put in a quick load of laundry.
As you probably guessed, Penny had either been feigning
sleep to trick me, or she was awoken by the scent of food. I guess a dog can smell better than we can,
because I hadn’t noticed the scent.
I didn’t notice the missing cinnamon rolls right away. It wasn’t until I sat down to fold some clean
laundry that I realized something was amiss.
You see, Penny came up to me, looked me straight in the face and left
the largest burp one never expected to hear from a dog. And I was nearly overwhelmed by the smell of
yeast on her breath.
The tell-tale smell was a dead giveaway of what she had
done. I hurried into the kitchen to
realize that she had polished off a good three quarters of the raw rolls. Then as I turned to scold her, I stopped
looking at her more closely. It could
have been my imagination, but her well-rounded tummy looked to be protruding
just a wee bit more than usual.
Instead of scolding I quickly called a friend who knew more
about dogs and baking than I did and learned the dogs body temp is perfect for
rising dough. So, yes, Penny was not
suffering from speed pregnancy, rather from dough rising in her stomach. My friend suggested I give her ice water to
try to stop the dough from rising.
Of course, Penny was full and didn’t want any water, ice
cold or otherwise. So, the only thing
left to do was take her to the vet, who gave her a shot to make her bring up
the growing mass in her stomach, and a nick name that was even put on her
file. “The Bread Dough Kid”.
Penny was a lovely dog, with a great temperament. I remember a lot about her, but the bread
dough story is the most memorable of them all.
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