The truth of the matter is that enjoying a snack is difficult with a begging dog. Yes, you are thinking that I am a non-sharing jerk. That may be true, but doesn’t really apply here. With Shane I share . . . his cute little doggie face and all that. The problem is he doesn’t chew. Just now I made myself a little peanut butter foldover and when I sat down, there he was.. So I gave him a bite and I took one. I became acutely aware that peanut butter is one of those foods you have to chew at least a little – unless you are a dog.

Shane’s bite lasts as long as it takes to open his mouth and swallow and then he wants another. For me, the peanut butter is sticking to my tongue, teeth, roof of mouth and before I know it, he has had four bites by the time I manage to swallow one.

I have been aware of this for a long time; I just became acutely aware of it this morning because I really wanted to savor my sandwich and I was hungry too. So I stuffed four bites into my cheeks, put one on my tongue and started a marathon chewing session. Sometimes I tease my grandkids about chewing each bite 35 times. (Of course, Summer and I are so competitive, we have had “most chews” contests.) Let me tell you, I may not chew a bite of peanut butter 35 times, but having five bites in your mouth at once is not something you wolf down.  Chewing is inhibited by space and I think I actually chewed more than 5 times 35 times.

My plan needs modification – maybe smaller bites for Shane. Could he tell? Oh, I think so. Added to the speed of eating difference, he doesn’t care for the crusts. Come on,  you darn dog, it’s not like you taste it going down. I think he toys with me, knowing he can always do the “puppy dog” eyes thing.

I could just stop snacking on peanut butter sandwiches, but he’s an Australian Shepherd and you know how they have their routines. Drat, foiled again.

I had a nightmare which I can no longer remember. I was reading last night about a Nazi spy, but it wasn’t about that, although I don’t know why I’m sure of that because I can’t remember it. When I first woke, I thought, NIGHTMARE, and I knew the gist of the dream; I think I noted that it wasn’t related to the book.  Oh, well, I am staying awake for a while . . . just because I feel like it  . . . not that I’m afraid to go back to sleep or anything. Yeah, right.

I once dreamed that I wound up with a group of 30’s gangsters and we were in a car that crashed into the woods when we missed a fork in the road and the Fed’s were all around and we were doomed. Sometimes I think the “Oh, my God, how did I get into this mess” memory of that dream keeps me on the straight and narrow.

Oh, no, that straight and narrow idiom just typed itself; no thought of symbolism with the fork in the road. But, wait, the straight and narrow is what got us into the shoot ’em out situation. I think our driver must have been a secret admirer of poetry and was thinking about The Road Not Taken; he must have been too literal. i mean, “Mugsy, that doesn’t mean leaving the pavement!” I’ll bet I’m over-thinking this.

The visual aid is a little over the top, too, dontcha think?