sugarcane sprinkles. Yummy.
Bub sat on the white-tiled floor, looking up
at me while I stood before the pantry with a handful of boar
nuggets. When I reached down, he politely gummed one from my hand,
munched it up, swallowed, and waited for another.
Angie was straightening up the dishes in the
sink when I asked, “Why do animals have to eat other animals?” I
gave Bub another treat.
“I don’t know. That’s just the way it is.”
Plates clinked together as she stacked another.
“Have you ever eaten meat?”
“Yeah, I had boar meat once.”
Bub took another treat from my hand. “Eew,
really, what was it like?”
“Kinda like chewing on a dirty shoe.”
“Well, that sounds yummy. Where’d you get
it?”
She grabbed a rag, started wiping down the
counter. “One of Jaydenn’s friends is a boar hunter for a pet food
factory. He brought some over for us. He called them steaks.”
“Did Jaydenn eat them?”
“Yeah, you should’ve seen him. He devoured it
like he was in love. Moaning and groaning. It almost made me
jealous.”
“But, it’s a dead animal, that’s gross.” I
gave Bub the last nugget.
“Yeah, I guess. Males are weird though, so it
doesn’t surprise me.” She walked to the island table at the center
of the kitchen, began wiping it down.
“Okay, Bubby, that’s all for now.” While he
finished licking his lips, I patted his head and said to Angie,
“Well, you’re never gonna catch me eating an animal. I just don’t
see the point.”
Beyond hungry, I went to the refrigerator,
opened the door to see a cornucopia of colors—vegetables and fruits
and glass pitchers of tea. My focus went to the bottom shelf, the
fruit shelf, as I eyed melons of sweet indulgence and berries of
every sort. Even as I reached out for a honeydew, Angie spoke up
from behind, “Now, Elle, don’t forget to grab some veges. We need
to take care of the boys.”
My head was still in the refrigerator. “I
know how to make a salad, sis.”
With both arms full of salad makings, I
dumped them to the island-table surface. A head of purple cabbage
rolled off the table to the floor. If Angie wasn’t there, I
probably would’ve left it, but, whatever.
Bub walked over, sniffed the cabbage. Then
looked up at me with a doggie grimace, his brown eyes seemed to
say, I’m not eating that. I picked it up, pulled a knife from a
wooden block. Angie stood across, waiting, with her eyes on me. Why
did she have to watch me so close, with a grin, as if she was
studying a student? For some reason, I couldn’t begin. She was
making me nervous. She’s such a turd.
She finally said, “I’ll cut up the veges.
You’re in charge of the fruit.” A smirk while she pulled another
knife.
Caught in limbo, Bub just stood there. He
seemed to be trying to decide if he should wait for fruit scraps,
or go to his doggy bowl full of crunchies. He looked at me, then
his bowl, then me. “Sorry, Bubby, no fruit for you.” He hung his
head, then loped over to his water bowl and began lapping it up. I
couldn’t help but giggle.
With my attention back at the table, I raked
some hair off my face, tucked it behind my ear, and got to work.
The knife flew with surgical precision as I peeled, diced, and
chopped like a culinary master. I scooped up handfuls and dumped
the little works of art into the wooden bowl. Angie followed with
various lettuces, cabbage, peppers and carrots. The masterpiece
completed, we exchanged smiles, paused, and almost on cue we both
said, “Lovely.” To which we giggled together. This was our little
ritual saying ever since we were kids.
“I’ll grab some chips, you pour the tea,”
Angie said as she headed for the upper cupboards across the
kitchen.
We strolled back into the den, each with a
tray. Mine with the salad bowls, forks and napkins. Angie’s tray
held the drinks. Even as we walked across the room with our
balancing act, the boys were leaned over the table. Dad tapped a
finger on a paper, said,
Bub sat on the white-tiled floor, looking up
at me while I stood before the pantry with a handful of boar
nuggets. When I reached down, he politely gummed one from my hand,
munched it up, swallowed, and waited for another.
Angie was straightening up the dishes in the
sink when I asked, “Why do animals have to eat other animals?” I
gave Bub another treat.
“I don’t know. That’s just the way it is.”
Plates clinked together as she stacked another.
“Have you ever eaten meat?”
“Yeah, I had boar meat once.”
Bub took another treat from my hand. “Eew,
really, what was it like?”
“Kinda like chewing on a dirty shoe.”
“Well, that sounds yummy. Where’d you get
it?”
She grabbed a rag, started wiping down the
counter. “One of Jaydenn’s friends is a boar hunter for a pet food
factory. He brought some over for us. He called them steaks.”
“Did Jaydenn eat them?”
“Yeah, you should’ve seen him. He devoured it
like he was in love. Moaning and groaning. It almost made me
jealous.”
“But, it’s a dead animal, that’s gross.” I
gave Bub the last nugget.
“Yeah, I guess. Males are weird though, so it
doesn’t surprise me.” She walked to the island table at the center
of the kitchen, began wiping it down.
“Okay, Bubby, that’s all for now.” While he
finished licking his lips, I patted his head and said to Angie,
“Well, you’re never gonna catch me eating an animal. I just don’t
see the point.”
Beyond hungry, I went to the refrigerator,
opened the door to see a cornucopia of colors—vegetables and fruits
and glass pitchers of tea. My focus went to the bottom shelf, the
fruit shelf, as I eyed melons of sweet indulgence and berries of
every sort. Even as I reached out for a honeydew, Angie spoke up
from behind, “Now, Elle, don’t forget to grab some veges. We need
to take care of the boys.”
My head was still in the refrigerator. “I
know how to make a salad, sis.”
With both arms full of salad makings, I
dumped them to the island-table surface. A head of purple cabbage
rolled off the table to the floor. If Angie wasn’t there, I
probably would’ve left it, but, whatever.
Bub walked over, sniffed the cabbage. Then
looked up at me with a doggie grimace, his brown eyes seemed to
say, I’m not eating that. I picked it up, pulled a knife from a
wooden block. Angie stood across, waiting, with her eyes on me. Why
did she have to watch me so close, with a grin, as if she was
studying a student? For some reason, I couldn’t begin. She was
making me nervous. She’s such a turd.
She finally said, “I’ll cut up the veges.
You’re in charge of the fruit.” A smirk while she pulled another
knife.
Caught in limbo, Bub just stood there. He
seemed to be trying to decide if he should wait for fruit scraps,
or go to his doggy bowl full of crunchies. He looked at me, then
his bowl, then me. “Sorry, Bubby, no fruit for you.” He hung his
head, then loped over to his water bowl and began lapping it up. I
couldn’t help but giggle.
With my attention back at the table, I raked
some hair off my face, tucked it behind my ear, and got to work.
The knife flew with surgical precision as I peeled, diced, and
chopped like a culinary master. I scooped up handfuls and dumped
the little works of art into the wooden bowl. Angie followed with
various lettuces, cabbage, peppers and carrots. The masterpiece
completed, we exchanged smiles, paused, and almost on cue we both
said, “Lovely.” To which we giggled together. This was our little
ritual saying ever since we were kids.
“I’ll grab some chips, you pour the tea,”
Angie said as she headed for the upper cupboards across the
kitchen.
We strolled back into the den, each with a
tray. Mine with the salad bowls, forks and napkins. Angie’s tray
held the drinks. Even as we walked across the room with our
balancing act, the boys were leaned over the table. Dad tapped a
finger on a paper, said,