The black hole

A sock goes missing.  Pens disappear.  Keys that were just in your hand are gone.  Eyeglasses lost.  The creamer that you placed on the kitchen counter after pouring yourself some coffee, vanished.  Your cell phone misplaced. The next scene shows you scratching your head as you wander around your house looking for the no-where-to-be-found items. Geez, you just had’em, where could they be?

You’re not senile, you’re not losing your mind, it’s not loss of memory, but damn, where could they be?

In my case, it was my cell phone.

At 6:30 a.m.

On a work day.

I checked my car, under the seats, between the console looking for my missing phone.  I re-checked my purse and all its pockets that has been my designated personal filing cabinet – no luck.  I’m not crazy, I just placed my whole connection to my life, my friends, my business associates on the table and now it’s  gone.  AWOL.  At first I was puzzled.  What did I do with my phone?  I just had it.

I retraced my steps, back tracked in my mind the rooms I had just been in.  I checked the coat I were wearing last, under pillows, behind cushions.  No where.  I patted down my back pants pockets, my front pockets, my chest pockets (phone shelf) and came up empty.  I grabbed my husband’s phone and dial my number only to hear nothing, not a peep.  I forgot that I had shut it off.  My photo album, my phone book, my email list – gone, gone, gone.  Now I was getting anxious.  Where was my phone?

The clock was ticking and I needed to be on my way to work.  I needed my phone.  I had a committee meeting and wanted to be a little early to work to set up the conference room.  I still had a little time but wanted to be on my way.   Amore was picking up on my anxious state, following me as I went from room to room hunting down my cell.  Dolce was nowhere to be found.

I have to admit, especially since I am talking a lost phone, I went from puzzled to anxious to frantic in about 60 seconds flat.  Maybe less.  The sounds from my heels tapping against the brick floor started clicking faster and faster in my desperation to locate my cell.  I was in frantic mode.  Amore was stirred up.  Dogs seem to pick up on their human folk’s emotional state and Amore had zeroed in on mine.  She started to run through the house barking her way from one end to the other.  Her barks were a beacon for Dolce, calling her in from the outside.  It’s standard procedure between the two of them, if one dog barks, the other will join in the chorus singing back-up.  The duet woke up Malcolm.  Crap!

“What the hell is going on?” a blurry eyed Malcolm growled.

“Can’t find my cell phone,” I tersely replied.  I was frustrated.

“And I need to get to work!”  I added.

“Try the pen.  Dolce has been frantically coming in and out of the pen for the last 15 minutes, making a racket with the dog door” he mumbled as he rolled back over in bed, pulling the covers up and over his head.

The only common wall between our dog pen and our house is in our master bath.  In our infinite wisdom, we placed the dog door in the bottom half of our linen closet in the bathroom.  It was brilliant move on our side.  The dog door is discrete, tucked inside the closet.  We can close it off any time, putting the lower shelves back in place and we can shut the door to either lock the dogs outside or in, depending on the situation.  It was also a stupid move on our side.  During the monsoon season of the summer months, Amore and Dolce track in mud and muck throughout the bathroom and into our master suite. During the winter months, they track in snow.  And, the worse of it, we hear the girls coming and going as the door flap swishes back and forth and back and forth.  Of course Malcolm heard the loud swish and swoosh as Dolce entered and left through the door as he laid in bed.

I trooped around the back to the dog pen, Amore and Dolce following close at my side.  Yep.  there lay my cell phone, under a dog-tagged bush.  Thankfully unharmed, unscathed.  Dolce was the culprit.  The phone perpetrator.  Our thief.   There was the beginnings of a hole being dug to the left of my phone.  Fresh dirt nosed into a small pile, letting me believe the evidence that Dolce was going to bury her prize, my phone.  That might have been a first, a dog buried cell phone. Her muzzle still had a sprinkle of dirt around the nose.

I wasn’t in the mood to laugh about it.  I snatched up my phone, wiped off the remaining dirt and hi-tailed it to work.  Later, after my committee meeting, after I was home from work, after my sense of humor kicked back in, I could chuckled over Dolce and the black hole.  Later, Malcolm and I would have a hoot over what else might be buried in the dog pen, laughing about what else is missing.

But not now!

Now, when something is missing, the pen is the first place we look.

found!

For more tails of the dogs, purchase If it falls on the floor, it’s mine! cookbook at http://www.amazon.com/dp/0615869823

our paper boy

I’m of the belief that dogs, especially those that belong to the Working Dog Group,  need to feel important.  They need to know they have a valuable function within the family dynamics, a job to perform  that is essential to their caretakers.  Dogs such as the Bernese Mountain Dog, were bred to pull small farm carts loaded down with heavy milk cans for the dairies.  Their deep barreled chest made them an ideal breed to work on a farm, driving goat herds to and from their pastures and drafting farm supplies from the villages.  While we don’t have a dairy for the girls to work on, I have tried to find appropriate chores for them to perform to feel useful.

On that note, I looked no further than our own paper box.

Tiamo was barely a year old when she started to fetch the daily newspaper.  At first she would just walk up the long drive with me to get the morning paper.  She would prance her way up the driveway, excitement shining in her eyes, hoping for a glimpse of a cottontail or a low flying bird she could chase.  I’d call her back, reprimanding her for leaving my side.  She’d hang her head, giving me her sorrowful look that was just shy of forgiveness and pretend to be good for the rest of the walk to the paper.   With the misbegotten belief that she was exonerated for misbehaving, Tiamo would try to play the “grab the paper and run” game on the return trip back to the house.  I had a habit of tucking the rolled up newspaper under my arm, leaving my hands free, usually in my coat pockets to keep warm.   Thinking of the paper as the golden prize to be had, Tiamo would jump high to nip at the paper under my arm, hoping to grab it and sprint her way to triumph.  She recognized my hands were otherwise occupied, staying warm beneath the folds of my jacket.  On the days Tiamo was able to lock onto the paper, she would run a victory lap around the house, many times dropping her precious load somewhere in the back forty, where I would have to go search for the paper under wet, dew soaked weeds  and stickers – not so much fun at six in the morning.  I knew I had to teach her respect for the printed word or we would have shredded bits of paper throughout as she tore into her prize.

And so our training began…..

Our paper usually arrived wrapped in a plastic sleeve to protect it from the elements, I figured the plastic would also shield the paper from Tiamo’s drool, if I could just teach her to carry the paper back to the house.  Using a leash to keep her close and her favorite treats to reward her, I trained Tiamo to carry our newspaper from the paper box at the end of  the drive, down to the house and drop it on the floor by the couch.  It took one week.  She had such a gentle mouth, she never tore the plastic protector, keeping the rolled paper pristine.  After a successful month of transporting our paper, I started unleashing her.  Tiamo never once strayed away from my side.  Fun and games was over, she knew she had a job to do.  A few more weeks of free range paper hauling and I taught her to reach into the bright yellow paper box, pulling out the newspaper herself.  I was no longer allowed to remove the paper from the plastic holder – that was Tiamo’s responsibility.  Doing so would result in a barking frenzy and a strong nose nudge under my arm to release the paper.  I was forever banned from getting the paper, nobody was going to do Tiamo’s job.  It didn’t take long before I didn’t even have to walk up the driveway with Tiamo.  I’d let Tiamo out the front gate and stay behind, keeping an eye on her as she ran up the drive, grabbed the newspaper from the box and jog back down to me, the paper gently clutched between her jaws, pride sparkling in her eyes.

Tiamo kept her job, even after her litter was born and Dolce and Amore became part of our household.  That was her task.  I never tried to teach the girls to fetch the paper – I always considered that Tiamo’s duty.  Besides,  I know for a fact, Dolce and Amore would have fought big time over who got to carry the newspaper.  With Tiamo’s passing, I walk the drive alone, grabbing the morning paper out of the now-weathered yellow paper box.  I’m back to tucking the roll up under my arm, my hands warm in my pockets.  Sweet memories of Tiamo attempting to snatch the paper out from my control often come to mind.  I miss our morning ritual – now a-days, the paper just doesn’t read the same.

Reading the newspaper with a strong cup of coffee seems to go hand in hand, and perhaps a slice of freshly baked coffee cake to sweeten the news.

RASPBERRY CREAM COFFEE CAKE

• 2 1/4 cups All-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 3/4 cup butter
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 3/4 cup sour cream
• 1 tsp. Amaretto
• 1 egg
• 1/2 cup raspberry jam
• 1/2 cup chopped macadamia nuts

Cream Cheese Filling

• 1 pkg. 8 oz. softened cream cheese
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 2 tbsp. flour
• 1 egg

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease the bottom of a pie pan or springform pan.

Mix all the cream cheese filling ingredients until smooth and set aside.  Mix flour and sugar in large bowl.  But in butter, using a pastry blender until mixture looks like coarse crumbs.  Reserve 1 cup of the crumb mixture and set aside.  Stir the next six ingredients in with the crumb mixture.  Spoon batter over the greased bottom of the pan and up the sides 1-2 inches.  Pour cream cheese filling mixture over the batter.  Carefully spoon the raspberry jam over the filling.  Mix the reserved crumb mixture and the chopped macadamia nuts and sprinkle over the top.

Bake 50 minutes or so, or until filling is set and the crust is a deep golden brown.  Let cool 15 minutes and removed from the pan.  Serve warm or cool.  Keep in the refrigerator to store.

Enjoy your morning!

 

For more delicious recipes and tails of the dogs, purchase If it falls on the floor, it’s mine! cookbook at http://www.amazon.com/dp/0615869823

thunder

For years, New Mexico has been in a terrible drought.  With water rationing and water conservation signage throughout our restaurants and hotels, New Mexicans have learned to sip carefully.  This summer we have been lucky.  Deluged with a monsoon season that has been plentiful, the rains have brought buckets of precious water to our parched landscape and left knee-high weeds mingling within a plethora of wildflowers.  We have never seen our high desert countryside so green, so lush with foliage, so full of nature.  With each rain, the elevated fire danger alerts lessen, the fire gauge’s arrow slowly creeping back from red to orange to yellow to green. Earlier this summer, we saw fires in the Jemez Mountains to our west and fires in the Pecos Wilderness to our east.  Our mornings saw smoky haze creeping around Santa Fe, our afternoons showed us billowing smoke clouds topping the Sangre de Cristos.  We held our breath each time  we heard thunder, fearing a lightning strike against nature’s dryness.  When the monsoons arrived in July, our tension eased, knowing the pinon trees and grasses were soaking up the moisture, re-building their arsenal against the ever-present dryness.

Some time around the first part of July, we received our first round of monsoon showers.  The normal thunder and lightning came along for the ride.  Out of the clear blue, Amore decided she did not like thunder.  In fact, she decided she was downright scared of thunder.  So scared, and so unexpected, the first time she freaked, we immediately took her to the vet, knowing something was horribly wrong.  Shivering, shaking, not eating, agitated, up and down, insistent to be on us or right next to us, we were clueless to what was wrong with her.  Thunder had never bothered her in the past.  She slept though it, never giving the loud crackling noise a thought.  Even when the thundering storm was right overhead, like cymbals crashing together, she wouldn’t bother to lift her head, twitch her nose or jerk her paw.  Amore was oblivious to the thunder.  And now, she shivers and shakes with fear, sometimes for hours after the storm has passed.

New Mexico lightning

We purchased a thunder shirt for her, hoping to lessen her anxiety.  The moment we hear the rumbling drums of thunder, we put Amore in her shirt, wrapping the fabric snugly against her.  It helps.  Not completely, but it brings her panic to a more manageable level.  For five years, thunder’s loud roll overhead never affected Amore.  Today, the distant reverberation brings  her to her knees.

Last night’s rain brought another round of thunder.  At one in the morning, Amore awoke in fear as the storm let loose above us.  Lightning, thunder, rain, and hail crashed through the night, pelting the land with more than an inch of moisture in less than fifty minutes.  Amore shook with terror as the loud booms of thunder were clashing over us.  She headed straight to Malcolm to calm her, jumping up on the bed and onto Malcolm’s sleeping form.  Malcolm woke to a trembling dog crushing him, breathing in dog hair, a dog tail flapping in his face.  Paws stepping all over him, Malcolm was Amore’s security blanket.  It was sunrise before Malcolm was able to fall back to sleep, Amore nestled up against his side, gently snoring, safe.

THUNDER & LIGHTNING CAKE

Best to make when a storm is approaching in the distance!

• 1/2 c butter
• 1/2 c brown sugar
• 4 egg yolks (save whites)
• 3/4 c flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. baking powder
• 4 tbsp. cream
• 1 tsp. Kaluha

• 4 egg whites
• 1 c. brown sugar
• cream of tartar
• 1/2 c chopped pecans

• 1/2 pt. of whipped cream or Cool Whip (I prefer homemade whipped cream)

Preheat over at 350 degrees.  Grease two (2) cake pans and layer parchment paper on bottom of each pan.

Cream butter and 1/2 c brown sugar, slowly adding the egg yolks one at a time.  Add flour, baking powder, salt, cream and Kaluha.  Pour batter into prepared cake pans..  Spread out batter (it will looks like very little, but will rise up as it bakes).  Beat egg whites until stiff and gradually add 1 cup brown sugar and a pinch of cream of tartar.  Beat again until peaks are stiff.  Spread over top of batter, then sprinkle with pecans.

Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes.  Turn out on cake plate with the egg white side down.  Spread top of cake layer with whipped cream.  Place second layer of cake on top of first layer of cake, this time egg white side up!

If layers stick in pans, run a knife around the edge to loosen the meringue.

sunny side up

Unfortunately, our dogs are conditioned to enjoy breakfast at the crack of dawn.  Most days, we will find a cold, wet nose sniffing for some activity, checking to see if we’re alive, usually on my still warm from sleep neck and usually when it is still dark outside.  And if there is one nose nudge, there soon will be two.  The down side is having a cold nose (or two) poking and prodding you while you still have ten minutes before the alarm goes off.  The up side is being greeted in the morning by two very happy dogs!  There is no way you can wake up grumpy with two in-your-face exuberant dogs impatient to start their day.  Always in good humor and with shiny bright eyes, Amore and Dolce embrace each morning like a Bridgestone on pavement, wanting the day to unfold like a stretch of road opening up wide from a tight curve, at full throttle, gaining traction as they hit the ground running. They have yet to learn the meaning of “sleeping-in”.

Bernese Mountain Dogs are the type of dog that wants to be with you – constantly.  Where you goeth, they want to goeth.  If they are ready to begin their day, they want to make certain you are there with them.  And once up, they  will follow me throughout my get-ready-for-work rituals just for the company.  They know when the hair dryer shuts off, it’s count-down to breakfast. And, once full from breakfast, they get to race up the drive to fetch the newspaper, always with the hope of a Cottontail crossing their path.

For Amore and Dolce, there is only one way to greet the morning and that is sunny side up!

 

Cheesy grits

Cheesy Grits with Ham and Eggs

• 1 1/4 cups whole milk
• 1 can low-sodium chicken broth (1 3/4 cups)
• 1/4 tsp. ground cayenne
• 1/8 tsp dried thyme
• 1/2 cup chopped green onions
• 3/4 cup quick grits
• 1 1/2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese
• salt & pepper to taste

• 1   –  1/2 ” thick ham steak approx.  1 1/2 lbs.
• 2 tbsp. dark brown sugar

• 2 tbsp. butter
• 4 eggs

In a 2 – quart saucepan, combine milk, broth, cayenne, and thyme, bring to a boil over high heat.  Slowly whisk grits into liquid and reduce heat to low, cover and simmer 5 to 7 minutes or until mixture thickens, stirring occasionally.  Remove saucepan from heat and stir in 1/4 cup green onions and cheese.

While the grits are on the stove cooking, heat a 12-inch non-stick skillet over medium high heat until hot.  Pat ham dry with paper towels and coat both sides with the brown sugar.  Add to skillet.  Cook ham 5 minutes or until heated through and glazed, turning once.  Remove ham and keep warm.

Leaving  the skillet on the stove , add the butter to the hot skillet and melt.  Coat the skillet with the butter, tipping the skillet until covered.  Add the eggs, keeping the whites from touching the each other.  Fry the eggs until cooked to the desired level.  Sunny side up

Cut ham into serving sizes and arrange on individual plates with a serving of grits.  Place a fried egg on top of the grits and garnish with remaining chopped green onions

 

cat fight

This morning was a normal 5:00 a.m. wake-up.  Amore lumbered by at her usual time of 4:55 a.m. to press wet wake up doggy kisses on my cheek.  Not to be outdone, Dolce barreled in between Amore and the side of the bed to ensure her share of early morning love.  Like clock-work, the girls followed me through my morning ritual of getting ready for work, eagerly anticipating breakfast once I was finished.  About 10 minutes in, Gordita arrived from her night-time-hidey-hole to loudly scratch at the bottom of the bathroom door, determined to be let in to join the party.  The three quietly lazed about, each curled up in their own special spot on the floor, still waking up to their full potential for the day to come.  One by one, they took turns in giving me good morning hugs.  Amore likes to put her front paws on the counter next to me so she can rub her muzzle up against me, receiving a rub in return.  Gordita jumps from the rim of the tub to the sink counter and weaves her quiet way softly over hair brushes and toothpaste to leap onto my shoulder, liking to nuzzle my neck for a few minutes before I set her back down, and Dolce loves to push her way through from behind your legs to get her ears scratched.  About the time I’m ready for some hot coffee, Amore and Dolce have fully woken up and are ready for their own breakfast.

We all headed out to the kitchen, Dolce in the lead as Gordita sprinted between dog paws  and dog tails to reach a safe haven under the kitchen table, ready to watch the breakfast festivities.  I performed the routine procedure of  filling their dishes with their kibbles and bit of water before making the two sit.  Both Amore and Dolce have learned to sit quickly down on their honches, knowing I won’t place the feed bowl down until they have earned it.  Side by side, they immediately dove into their respective dog bowls, slurps and crunches and the rattle of the tin bowl,  the only noises heard.  Once I gave them their chow, I grabbed a flashlight and walked up the drive to retrieve the newspaper.  About the time I get back to the house, the girls are usually just finishing up.  Sometimes one will polish off their meal ahead of the other, sometimes they clean their bowls at the same time, but always, once finished, they wander over to where I’m sitting with the paper for a little love.  Until this morning…..

This morning the little bitches got into a cat fight!  For 4 1/2 years, Amore and Dolce have happily enjoyed their meals together, shoulder to shoulder.  They have their own dog bowls, nestled in a raised double-panned stand – Dolce’s on the right, Amore’s right next door on the left.  For over four years, they  have received the same portions, the same food, at the same time.  Dolce is always the first to sit.  Amore is always first to dig in.  And, this morning the two big babies started a fight over the last nibble!  It’s typical for Amore to finish her meal first and Dolce to lap up her’s in a close second.  Today, Amore unwisely decided to see what was left in Dolce’s bowl and gobbled up what was there before Dolce could.  War broke out in the middle of the kitchen with snarls, growls, raised paws and big fangs barred.  I’ve always been told to never get in the middle of a dog fight – with a long-handled broom, I swatted the behind of the closest dog to me, allowing a distracted mutt to cease-fire.

Talk about a little early morning excitement, their loud and contested dispute brought Malcolm running into the kitchen from a sound slumber to see me taking my last wallop with the broom and Amore slinking off to her corner to lick her pride.  Suffice to say, this evening their feed bowls were separated and the broom was kept handy.

Source: soulrecipes.info via Melba on Pinterest

Fat & Sassy French Toast

So good, you’ll fight over the last piece!

• 8-10 slices day-old bread, crusts removed
• 16 oz. cream cheese, cut into cubes
• 3 cups of sliced fruit i.e., bananas, strawberries, raspberries
• 12 large eggs
• 2 cups milk
• 1/3 cup brown sugar

Grease a 13 x 9 inch baking pan.  Lay 4-5 slices of bread on bottom of pan, then top with cream cheese cubes and sliced fruit. Top with the rest of the bread slices and set aside.  Beat together eggs, milk and brown sugar and pour over bread.  Cover pan with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

Preheat over to 350 degrees.  Remove plastic wrap from pan and bake for 40 minutes or until top layer of bread of lightly golden brown.

Serve with additional warmed maple syrup if desired.

all in a dog’s day

is it morning yet? jump on mom to wake her up, nope, she’s not up yet, go out to the pen to see if anything happened overnight ,jump on mom again to wake her up, yea! she’s crawling out of bed, time to eat breakfast, follow mom outside to retrieve the newspaper, time for an early morning nap, ok, mom’s left for work, let’s chew up the newspaper before Malcolm gets to read it, sigh, check to see if there is anything new in the dog bowl, rats! nothing! take another nap, roll over and stretch, emit a bad  dog fart, sigh, head bump Malcolm for a quick rub on the ears, take another nap, wake up barking at some noise, sigh, counter-surf for crumbs – sigh, let’s go bug Malcolm, bark some more at nothing, fanegale a treat out of Malcolm, check out the kitchen floor for a quick nibble – something new might have fallen from the counter, rats! nothing – sigh, tear through the house to the outdoor pen, something might be out there,  track dirt back in the house, beg for a doggie treat, sigh, bark some more to annoy Malcolm, plop down and sigh, when is mom coming home from work? sigh, fart, bark at a car driving by, do another drive-by in the kitchen – rats again! nada – go for a walk with Malcolm – yippee! – get home and take another nap, it’s dinner time, burp, fart, run through the house and slide on the rug – yippee! – mom is home – yippee! – let’s go give her a welcome attack, bark, bark, bark, bark, jump up on mom to give her a dog hug, beg for another dog snack cuz mom doesn’t know Malcolm already gave us one, take a nap, follow mom and Malcolm around the house from room to room, is it bedtime yet? put head back down, watch mom clean up in the kitchen, any crumbs? rats! nothing! now it’s time, jump on bed and curl up to mom, cuddle, roll over for a belly rub, cuddle, nudge amore over so dolce can get closer, get dog hair all over the down pillows, stretch, roll over for one last cuddle, ohhh siiiiggghh –

good night y’all!

Sunday tradition

Monday through Friday, I am the one to feed the girls their morning meal. Early.  5:00 a.m. early.  Our dogs are conditioned to enjoy their breakfast at the crack of dawn, when it’s still dark and cold out.  Once their bellies’ are full, they settle back down on their huge dog pillows for a little morning shut-eye as I sip my coffee and read the paper before I leave for work.

Come the weekend, my wonderful, sweet hubby gets up early to feed Amore and Dolce, allowing me to sleep a couple more hours before I start the day.  For some perverse reason, on the weekends, the girls start scrambling for their breakfast  around 4:00 a.m.  They’ll come around to the side of the bed, checking to see if one of us is up yet, being sure to whack their tail several times for good measure.  On a good day, they might wait until 4:30 a.m. before starting their wake-up antics.  If need be, Amore will jump up on the bed and sit on one of us in her attempt to get fed.  It’s about this time, I’m kicking Malc in the back, “it’s your turn to feed’em!” I mumble.

Blurry eyed, and three-quarters still asleep, he stumbles out to the dark kitchen, tripping over 200 excited pounds of two hungry dogs in their mad bid for their kibbles.  From the other room, I hear several choice words spewing loudly from his lips as his bare feet and legs are clawed by dog paws in their eagerness to be fed. I hear the clank and clatter from their metal dog bowls being pushed around the hard floor as they devour their food.  Then quiet. Blissful quiet.  Wonderful-fall-back-to-sleep quiet.  While the girls are still chowing down their food, Malc will crawl back into the still warm bed, staking out his territory on the mattress.  He has about 2 minutes to fluff his pillows and get comfortable before the girls search us out, climbing up on the bed to snuggle in for a few more hours.  A half hour later, Gordita joins the family snugglefest, stepping over fur and bodies to curl up on a down pillow.

By the time, I’m ready to rise, I have two dogs stretched out on each side of me and a cat up on my pillow loudly purring in my ear, a black cat tail draped across my face. I can’t move.  I look over at Malcolm and see a slight smile peaking through the covers.  “Psst! You awake?”, I persist in waking him.  One visible eye opens, we share a contented, loving look as we view our menagerie nestled on the bed.  Our family.  It brings a warm hug to our hearts.

Sunday morning is our special day of the week to laze around, read the paper, drink our coffee, share breakfast.  It’s turned into tradition, having our girls curled up around us as we read the comics, the OpEd page, the local news, sipping hot coffee, being careful not to spill any on the covers.  Breakfast turns into brunch, but who cares, it’s our lazy day to enjoy our family.

RASPBERRY PANCAKES

Perfect for those lazy Sunday mornings, these cakes are light and fluffy – the secret is taking the time to beat the egg whites separately.

• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp. baking powder
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1 cup non-fat milk (may use buttermilk)
• 1 large egg yolk
• 2 tsp. lemon zest, finely grated
• 2 large egg whites (save extra egg yolk for your canine friends)
• 3/4 cup sliced bananas
• 3/4 cup raspberries
• 1/4 cup raspberry jam (heated in microwave)
• 1 cup vanilla yogurt

In a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking powder and salt, set aside.  In a small bowl, whisk together milk, egg yolk and zest.  Set aside.

Beat egg whites with an electric mixer until stiff peaks forms.  Stir milk mixture little by little into the flour mixture.  Carefully fold in egg whites and then add the sliced bananas.

Spray non-stick cooking spray on a large non-stick skillet or griddle and warm over medium heat.  Ladle batter onto hot griddle using a 1/4 cup measuring cup to pour batter, making a hotcake.  Repeat until griddle is full.  Cook until bottom is set and golden brown, about two minutes.  Flip and cook until firm, another 2 to 3 minutes.  Set aside and cover to keep warm until you’ve cooked all the hotcakes.

Serve hotcakes topped with warm raspberry jam and vanilla yogurt and raspberries.

Houdini

Berners are the type of dog that want to be with you – – – always.  Where you goeth, they goeth.  If you step outside, they want to be outside with you.  If you need to run to the store, they need to go along with you, riding shotgun in the passenger seat.  They will be out the door and in the car before you’ve begun to search for your car keys.  If you need to use the restroom, they want to follow you.  Walk into the kitchen and paws pitter-patter beside you.  Two perpetual furry shadows, dogging your step.  Shutting the door on their noses only produces sniffing and scratching, amplified by two.

On occasion we elect to keep the girls home.   In the summer, the temperatures are too hot for them to be left in the car without air conditioning and other times, our errands run longer than we want to keep them cooped up in the SUV.    They’ve learned when they may join us for a car ride and when they are staying put, depending on the time of day, the clothes and shoes worn, and if they hear a certain jingle of the car keys.

Early mornings they recognize its “me leaving for work” time.  They follow me into the bathroom and hang while I am getting ready for work.  They walk with me to get the morning paper and follow me around as I pour my “must-have” coffee.  By the time I grab my car keys to drive into town for work, they are already sprawled out napping from their busy morning.  I scratch their ears good-bye as they lift their heads, watching me walk out the door, back asleep before I’ve pulled out of the garage.   They have become skilled at learning the difference between a “slide your foot into a heel” shoe and a “bend over to tie the laces of your hiking boot” shoe.  With the heel, they are accepting of their fate.  Knowing they will be staying home with Gordita, our cat, they have already gone back to what they were doing.  The boot means “WALK”, “RIDE”, or “BOTH”.  Any of which creates pandemonium.   A jingle of the car keys will bring a concerto of joyous high-pitched barking that continues through the process of loading them into the vehicle.

To our dismay, we have discovered there are times when Dolce and Amore have attempted to follow us, ignoring our command to stay.   On one such time, I drove home from work to find Dolce and Amore in the front portal, the front door wide open.   I just assumed Malcolm had opened the door for fresh air.  In reality, Malcolm had walked next door to deliver some misplaced mail.  The girls did not like the idea of being left alone at home, listening to the crunch of gravel as Malcolm walked up the driveway.  Dolce had pawed the dead bolt, unlocking it,  and on the down-swing, her paws hit the handicapped handle, swinging the door wide open.  Freedom.  Thankfully, the half-walls of the portal are too high for them to escape.

Dolce has turned her clever door-opening talent to other doors throughout the house. Back doors, garage doors, closet doors, even shower doors, she opens and shuts doors like a cat-burglar pro.  She stands on her hind legs and uses her front paws to turn the lock.  She then uses her weight to push in the door, gaining entry into the next room.  Should the door shut on her, she repeats the process, and with a descending slide, she hooks her paws on the handle lever and pulls open the door to come back through.  We caution our over-night guests to lock their bedroom door or they might have a four-legged visitor during the night.  Her special ability has forced us take stronger measures against future door openings.  We’ve installed additional hardware, slide locks and hooks, key locks and more dead-bolts, all designed to keep our Houdini dog where she belongs.

Scratch mark evidence

Added hardware

I am thankful this proficiency isn’t genetic and Amore isn’t that smart!  But then, maybe she is – Dolce is the one opening the door for her.

Santa’s Resolutions

Holiday Love!

I know, I know, its January! Everyone spins some words on the past 365 days and all they accomplished, their travel adventures, job changes and family additions. They write about their plans for the next 365 days with an equal number of bucket list items, check boxes next to their dreams, wishes and hopes. Ever wonder what would be on Santa’s bucket list? What would Santa’s New Year’s resolutions be? What would his travel and vacation plans be for the next year? What would Santa do? What would Santa write about? Umm……?

SANTA’S 2013 TWELVE RESOLUTIONS

1. It’s January – In one word, January is perfect! January’s resolution is just that – PERFECT. It’s Santa’s Birthday month! A present under the tree unwrapped a cuban and a perfect bottle of Port. A perfect combination for a cold winter’s night, sipped along with a warm, crackling fire, the dogs asleep at my feet, my honey beside me. What could be more perfect! Georgia Tech just stomped USC’s ass in a perfect win at the Sun Bowl! It’s a perfect month to sleep in and take some naps. Yes, January is perfect! Life is perfect!
2. It’s February – 28 days of love – We all should resolve to spread some of Cupid’s arrows. I hereby resolve to LOVE and be loved. Tiamo arrived in February, loved from the first moment we saw her, stumbling over her front paws as she investigated her new home – from day one, she had us wrapped around every one of her paws. She added much love to our lives, unconditional, unwavering. To be loved is a wonderful feeling.
3. It’s March – Raise your glass to little men in green and rainbows, pots of gold and lucky charms. We’ll be out West, in California, raising our glass to newly wedded bliss and new beginnings. Toasting to PROMISES.
4. It’s April – The soft, little green buds bursting out on the barren tree branches to push the cold away, opening to the gentle scent of apple blossoms with the freshness of spring. I met my wife in April and my LIFE has never been the same. Good bye city life! Is not spring about new life? To LIFE!
5. It’s May – We HONOR our moms, our heritage, our deceased. We honor those who brought us life and those who have passed on. We honor with parades, pinatas, and pinned on flower corsages. We will be honoring our marriage, vows made over ten years ago. We will honor Tiamo, who passed away a year ago. Honor – a special word for those individuals who are in our lives and hearts, and in our memories.
6. It’s June – ESCAPE! School’s out, vacations starts, summer’s on! Escape with beach reads, Blue Hawaiian’s, sun burns, and summer romances. Dip your toes in the sand, sip a margarita, forget the worries sitting heavily on your shoulders. Enjoy today and tomorrow and all the next days to come. Go ahead, I double-dog dare ya! Yup, it’s time to escape on a cruise, where crystal clear blue waters abound, little pink umbrellas float on my drinks and we can escape life’s troubles and worries.
7. It’s July – Another celebration, another birthday, another beautiful sunset. Let’s CELEBRATE! Democracy! Monsoon season! Rain! Freedom! 50 + candles on the cake! Company’s coming! Fireworks! Nordstrom’s shoe sale! Yeah, baby! Let’s Celebrate!
8. It’s August – What was planted in spring is ready for HARVEST. Corn, tomatoes, and squash, lots of squash. Cabbage, radishes and squash, more squash. Peas, onions, squash, squash and leftover squash. Squash omelets, squash casseroles, squash cake. Squash in the salad, squash in the sandwich, squash in the trash – harvest is over.
9. It’s September – Summer’s end, school is back in session, Labor day weekend is upon us. We labor at work, at home, at life. Tiamo went into labor over Labor Day Weekend, delivering eight little wagging tails. LABOR. The fruits of her labor gave us Dolce and Amore. Labor. Look back at all you have done, accomplished, labored, toiled. Look around you and see the fruits of your labor.
10. It’s October – Days filled with a nip in the air, nights cooling down to brrrr, it’s cold. Nature’s colors shifting from varying shades of green to bright yellows, burnt oranges, deep reds. October fests and beer fests, ghosts and goblins, Breast Cancer Awareness month. FEEL the changes as the days shorten, the soft leaves falling into brittle brown pieces as they scatter on the ground. Feel life’s tempo slow as it readies for hibernation. Feel each breath taken. Feel the embrace of Fall.
11. It’s November – THANKS! It’s a given in November. We give thanks for our family, friends, our good fortune. We give thanks for our health, full cupboards and our good luck. We give thanks to our individual gods, our country, our communities. Give thanks to our parent’s children. They deserve it.
12. It’s December -Ahhh, December, that magical time of the year where snow glistens and children listen. Good cheer is all around us. The little kid in all of us shines bright through smiles and twinkling eyes. A special time when, Malcolm, attired in a red suit, black boots and white beard, and toting a heavy red bag filled with presents and toys, brings wonder and awe to eight little children who still BELIEVE in magic.

What would Santa do? I think Santa would say, “2013 is a perfect year to love and to promise, to honor life’s joys. 2013 is a perfect year to escape our troubles, our problems, our heartaches and celebrate the harvest of our labors. 2013 is a perfect year to feel our thanks and not just say them. 2013 is a perfect year to believe in the magic.”

WINK, WINK!

Amore is our mischief-maker.  She is  85% imp, 15 % jokester and comedian.  Full-blooded Bernese Mountain Dog, full-thottle prankster, and full-of-it canine with a sneaky smile to match.

From day one, Amore has been  our trouble-maker.  She was the first to crawl out of the whelping pen, creating a mass ascension with her seven siblings, following in her paw steps.   She was the first to bark, yelp and whine, producing a chorus of noise, usually at night, usually late at night and usually with all her litter mates!  She was and still is the first to gobble up her chow, then proceeding over to Dolce’s bowl to impose a  feeding tax on any leftovers.   She was Tiamo’s first pick, the only puppy in the litter Mama loved to play with.  Amore was the first to discover the dog door, quickly learning if she went through the swinging flap, there was a bite of raw hamburger on the other side.  While a great training tool, the first night, she went back and forth through the doggie door for an hour straight looking for her treat.  At 2:00 a.m. we stumbled with barely opened eyes to the frig and found more ground burger to give her.  For the next week, that dog door was her best friend.

Amore loves to tease Malcolm.  When it’s time to load up in the car for a ride, she runs straight to the tailgate, fakes to the left before the jump in, swinging around the vehicle and on to the back field at a full run.  She’ll wait for Malcolm to come around the corner of the house before sprinting around the other side.  The cat and mouse game continues until Malcolm tires of walking around the house and Amore realizes she might be left at home.

I’ll never forget the first and only time I let Amore walk with me up to the road to retrieve the morning paper without a leash.  5:30 in the morning, pitch black skies with the sun still hiding in the far east, Amore takes off after a cotton-tail.  She recognized her freedom – the chase was on.  I tried everything to get her to return to me.  She would get within 10 yards and stay just beyond my reach.  I knew I needed to out trick the trickster.  Somewhere I had read to lay down on the ground and play opossum. In my skirt and high heels, I laid down on the gravel driveway with the Santa Fe New Mexican as my pillow.  I waited.  Amore waited.  One minute seemed like twenty, I heard the crunch of her paws on the gravel, I waited, eyes closed.  I felt a cold nose on my cheek and then several wet sloppy dog licks all over my face,  Amore checking to see if I was ok.   I grabbed her collar, refusing to let go of our 100 pound bunny chaser.  I gazed up at her and I swear I saw her wink at me.  She knew all along my intentions.  My golden moment of euphoria, having “won” the game, having outsmarted and outmaneuvered a canine comedian crumbled like broken chips at the bottom of the Frito bag.

That wink says it all.  With a twinkle in her eye, Amore is our prank-pulling pooch.   Her goofy grin, her playful antics, her doggy humor, her canine pranks, Amore has perfect timing with her delivery.  She knows the exact moment when to nose-nudge your elbow as you raise your glass of wine to take a sip.  She knows the exact moment when you go to sit on the couch and she beats you to your spot, then rolling over onto her back so you can’t pull her off the cushions.  She knows the exact moment when to rub up against you as you are leaving to go to an important meeting in your wool suit and you don’t have time to change out of your now dog-haired attire.  She knows the exact moment you are done fluffing the blankets and pulling up the bed covers as you prep for sleep, so she can jump up on the bed and curl up on your favorite down feathered pillows.

She knows the exact moment when to send you a wink and a smile, a grin and a chortle, reminding you not to take life so seriously.  She knows her doggy grin will get her out of trouble and her adorable canine chortle will let her stay on the bed.  Our winkster, Amore!

Left-overs

pummkinn! our favorite!

Left-overs.  We all look forward to the day after Thanksgiving – the day that produces the motherload of all left-overs!  Turkey sandwiches, turkey enchiladas, turkey soup.  And then there is sweet potato pancakes, potato balls and a lot gravy with a little mashed potatoes.  Cold stuffing, Cornbread stuffing, and just being stuffed.  Sneaking into the kitchen late at night to nab the last slice of pumpkin pie, hiding the treats and cookies from Malcolm,  standing over the kitchen sink feasting on dinner scraps rather than wash another dirty plate.

Each year, we swear on our full bellies, that the next  year we aren’t going to eat so much or drink too much.    Each year, we do anyway.  Each year, we swear we are going to cut back on the menu and each year we add another “must-try” recipe that becomes a staple for next Thanksgiving’s table.  Each year, we try to give away the left-overs to our friends and guests and each year we end up with even more left-over filled Tupperware freshly burped in the frig.

Dolce and Amore love the idea of left-overs.  As puppies, Dolce and Amore loved the left-over pumpkin  scraped out of the can not used in the pie.  Baking day still finds them at the edge of the kitchen hoping for some tasty morsel to land on the floor.  They know the rule, it falls on the floor, it’s theirs!  (Loaded with fiber, pumpkin is actually good for little puppy stommies and their digestion.)  When the chef is in the kitchen prepping for the Thanksgiving dinner, these two pray to the high heavens for dropped cheese crumbs, turkey scraps and potato peels.  They wish for an apple slice to fall, carrot chunks to plummet and diced celery to plunge off the chopping block and into their waiting jaws.  It is a contest between them which one snatches the left-over treasure first.

My favorite left-over is pecan pie.  Warm from the oven or cold for breakfast, pecan pie is my preferred holiday left-over dessert.  It’s the perfect midnight snack.  A little whipped topping, a dab of ice cream (if there is any left) and a sliver of pecan pastry.  Yummmm!

Here is my “must-try” recipe.  Enjoy!

WARNING:  Hide from husbands and dogs – will disappear off counter!

RUSTIC PECAN PIE

Crust

• 1  3/4 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
• 3 tbsp. dark brown sugar
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 4 tbsp. cold butter cut into small pieces
• 1 tbsp. cold water
• cooking spray

Filling

• 3/4 cup packed dark brown sugar
• 2/3 cup maple syrup
• 3 tbsp. all-purpose flour
• 1 tbsp. melted butter
• 1 tsp. Kahlua
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 2 large eggs
• 1 large egg white
• 1 cup pecan halves

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

To prepare the crust –

Prepare a deep dish pie pan with cooking spray and set aside.  Place the first 3 ingredients in a food processor, and process until finely ground (approx. 30 seconds).  Add butter and pulse or until combine.  Add 1 tbsp. ice water and pulse again until combines.  The mixture will be crumbly.  Press oat mixture into the bottom of a 9″ deep dish pie pan and up the sides.  Bake for 15 minutes or until lightly browned.  Let cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes.

To prepare the filling –

Reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees.  Combine brown sugar and next 8 ingredients in a medium bowl, stirring well.  Stir in pecan halves.  Mix.  Spoon filling into prepared crust.  Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes or until center is set.  Cool to room temperature on a wire rack.

 

 

Snooze button

The nose knows!

!UGH!  A cold wet nose is thrust upon my early morning dreams.  I look at the clock and try to focus on the blue digital numbers.  4:05 a.m.  There is still forty-five minutes before the alarm sounds off.  I try to ignore the persistent nose nudging under my elbow, desperately wanting and needing my 45 minutes of sleep.  Eyes closed, I feel  another nudge, this time on my hand that is dangling over the edge of the bed.  UGH! Dog slobber.   All over my hand.  I open my eyes just enough to check the time.  Dolce and Amore, with their twin noses within inches of my face, are eyeing me intently.  Two sets of eyes, shining brightly, eagerly waiting for me to get up and start the day.  My eyes raise to the alarm clock.  4:10 a.m. – 40 minutes left. It’s only been five minutes.  I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep.

Whack!  A sand-crusted paw hits the bed, just missing my nose.  I am assaulted with dog-paw odor.  “Off”! I whisper, not wanting to wake up Malcolm.  Amore doesn’t listen and doesn’t care.  Another paw joins the first,  more sand.  I look up, Amore is peering down on me, happy dog drool dripping onto my cheek and neck.  UGH!  I go to wipe off the wet drops and smear wet sand all over me.  UGH! 4:20 a.m.  A half-hour nap is  my only hope.  Amore licks my face, a more persistent dog you’ll never see.  She.  Wants.  Me.  Up.  NOW!  I roll over, implementing the “if I can’t see you, you can’t see me” rule, feeling the rough sand  throughout the sheets.  UGH!  Amore’s  determination runs deep, she paws the bed covers, pulling my warm blankets inch by coveted inch off the bed into a soft mass on the floor.  4:37 a.m.  I am now freezing, dog-slobbered, sand-covered and wide-awake.  Malcolm is softly snoring, oblivious to my wake-up call.

Just then, Dolce leaps up on the bed, clears a sleeping Malcolm, and lands on me.  Phoof!  The oxygen is squished out of my lungs.  I gasp for breath, simultaneously pushing Dolce off me.  I manage to turn her around, only to have her victorious wagging tail in my face.  UGH!  Visions of sleeping extra minutes vanished along with all the air from my lungs.  4:43 a.m.  Not to be out done, Amore jumps onto the mattress, her paws digging into Malcolm’s legs for balance.  “W.T.F.!”  Malcolm is rudely awaken.

4:45 a.m. Five minutes til “Wake-Up with Wally” blasts out the top ten hits on FM 107.9.  I shut off the alarm with Wally and crawl out of bed, crawl being the optimal word.  The dogs are ecstatic they have early morning company.  Malcolm is grumpy from being woken up.  I am a snooze button away from being sane.

Just remember, there is no snooze button for a dog who wants breakfast!