Butter Safe Than Sorry by Tamar Myers

Jacob, be a polite young man and turn around and say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Timms."
    He turned just enough to get a peek. "Do I hafta?"
    "Yes, you have to. Wherever did you leave your manners, young man? At Pat's IGA?"
    "At the pet store, Ma," he retorted, not wasting a second. "Papa stopped so I could see the puppies and one of them licked me all over my face and arms and Papa said maybe I could get it."
    "He did?"
    "Can I?"
    There are times, especially early in my relationship with Gabe, that I wanted to lick him all over the face and arms, but now I just wanted to wring his neck.
    "We'll see, dear," I said.
    "No, I want a puppy." My dear little monster punctuated each word with a well-placed kick to my shins. "Now!"
    "What you're going to get now, sweetie, is a nap." It was, after all, late afternoon, and even though he was four, I could tell that the excitement of a trip into town had taken its toll.
    "I'm too big for a nap." This time the cute little hands had closed into fists and he was pummeling my midriff.
    I pulled him off me like he was a spitting kitten. "You're not too big to mind your mama. Little boys who hit and kick do not deserve puppies. Now go straight to your room and lie quietly on your bed."
    Off he went, stomping up a storm to show me that I was the meanest mama in the whole wide world--which I'm sure I was. I didn't spank him, mind you, because I don't countenance hitting; by the way, that rule applied to everyone in the family.
    "I'm sorry you had to see that," I said to the Timmses, who had been watching, wide-eyed.
    "Not at all," Peewee said. "If it had been me, I would have walloped the kid."
    "Well, I still think you were mean," Tiny said. Her eyes filled with tears and she ran up the stairs, following closely behind Little Jacob.

7

    If Tiny thought I was mean, she should have followed me out to the car and watched how I laid into my husband, the Puppy Promiser. A puppy was a daily responsibility that lasted for many years. How could he make a decision like that and not have me be a part of it?
    "But, Mags," he said, "you should have seen his little face light up."
    "I've seen his little face light up when he sees the Santa impostors outside the stores at Christmastime. But I don't promise him a fat elf of his very own to feed and clean up after for the rest of that old man's lifetime."
    "Now you're just being ridiculous. Look, every boy needs a dog; any good psychiatrist will tell you that."
    " What? Is that what you were told?"
    "Well, maybe not in so many words, but I bet I would have had a happier childhood if I'd have had an impartial buddy like a dog to talk to. Mags, they're therapeutic. There's no denying that."
    "Are you saying that our son needs a therapy dog?"
    "You just said he threw a tantrum."
    "Because he was tired."
    "I get tired and I don't whale on my mother."
    "Now you're just being ridiculous."
    "So I am, am I?"
    "You bet your bippy." With that, I stomped back into the house and into the kitchen, where dear old Freni was minding a pot of stew. I suppose it is possible that she didn't hear my stomping or the door slamming--she is well into her golden years, after all.
    "Men!" I exclaimed in a voice loud enough for the dead to hear up in Settler 's Cemetery.
    "Yah," Freni said, without bothering to turn, "you cannot live with them, and they cannot live with you."
    I mustered up a chuckle. "Good one, although surely not intended."
    "No, this I mean. Magdalena, you are too smart for this war with the sexes, yah?"
    "That's 'battle of the sexes,' and this is barely a skirmish."
    "Hmm--for you English, maybe so. But didn't your mama tell you that there are more flies to be caught with honey than with vinegar?"
    "Let's pretend that she did, Freni; what do I want with a bunch of sticky flies?"
    Freni shook her head, which meant that her entire stout body shook, from her shoulders down. "It is not to be taken liberally," she said. "It means that--"
    "I know what it means, Freni."
    She