Must Love Dogs... By Terry Miller
When it comes to dating, it’s a dog-eat-squirrel world, and a man has to do what he has to do. Our master of the pickup, however, watches in fear and trembling as his latest stratagem goes awry.
Brenda sat reading on a park bench during a quiet, sunny afternoon
in a wooded park in downtown Cheeker’s Bluff, Montana. I
knew her name because she was a friend of a guy who worked for
the brother of the boss who owned the sanitation company that
cleaned the park who happened to be my beer buddy.
I watched Brenda every day during that month of August as she
enjoyed her lunchtime reading, soaking in the summer sun. She
always had a book in hand, alternately reading and feeding the
little, furry gray squirrels that bounded about her feet looking
for handouts.
When you’re a bachelor, and certain situations involve
a woman, you take what you have learned to seize a moment; whether
it comes from watching television, reading books, or listening
to married friends, you draw upon past understanding. And buried
somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I knew a dog would win the
heart of this woman, rather than the small-child-in-a grocery-store
ploy.
As usual, Brenda sat reading this particular afternoon and casually
tossing a cracker, now and again, to the colony of squirrels that
had become her friends. I climbed out of my car and nonchalantly
strolled to the passenger side where Peanut sat anxiously waiting,
panting, and eager to explore the park. Peanut was a mixed breed
I had rescued from the animal shelter the day before with this
day in mind. No one at the shelter was sure what mix he was, but
promised he was a darling dog women would adore—a real killer,
the guy assured me with a wink.
I hooked Peanut’s leash to his collar and wiped the slobber
from the dashboard. Peanut was bigger than the name would suggest.
He was more the size of a goat. I checked my hair in the side-view
mirror, gave my pal a pat on the head, and began the leisurely
walk through the lush, green grass toward the park bench. Peanut
tugged hard at the leash as we headed for my princess in paradise.
As we approached the bench, Brenda looked up and gracefully
folded her book. “Oh, what a pretty dog,” she said
as we drew near.
“Why, thank you,” I responded, again patting Peanut’s
head. I was beaming over the fact that I was a genius.
“I just love animals and . . .” Brenda’s words
were broken like a bad baseball bat as Peanut pounced on the crackers
and quickly turned them to crumbs. Rattled, Brenda darted behind
the bench as Peanut barked wildly at the empty cracker pack. I
jerked his leash to settle him down; the look I got in return
read “skin.” I dropped the leash and jumped to join
Brenda behind the bench.Peanut was in a state of pandemonium.
From out of nowhere, a belligerent young squirrel made a mad dash
toward a crumb in the grass.
Brenda threw up a hand in horror.
I turned my head.
Peanut choked on the tail.
Brenda bolted.
I sobbed.
Peanut puked.
I never did see Brenda again. The incident, however, spoke volumes
for television, bad books, and married friends.
A monk recently offered me a tour of the sanctuary he’s
lived in for nearly forty years...
Tuna and Noodle Express
10 3/4-ounce can of condensed cream of mushroom soup
1 can of evaporated milk
6-ounce can of tuna in water, drained
15-ounce can of green peas, drained
two cups uncooked shell macaroni
If express is on your mind, this dish fits the bill. In a large
pot, cook shells according to package directions, drain and return
to pot. Add soup. Mix well. Add tuna. Mix well. Add half the can
of milk. Mix well. Add half the can of peas. Stir. By now the
shells should be nice and creamy. If not, add a little more milk—but
no more than the entire can—and stir. Heat on stovetop for
about five minutes and you’re done. Serve with buttered
bread.
You can contact Terry Miller at cookingbachelorstyle@mountainhomemag.com.
His Web site is cookingbachelorstyle.wordpress.com. |
