I confess, I have a weakness. Just one, mind you! I love liverwurst sandwiches. They must be prepared a certain way though, otherwise forget it. Sometimes I’ll have liverwurst on either Townhouse or Ritz crackers, but those are the only ways I’ll eat it. It’s a treat I only get maybe once every 2 or 3 years, and only Oscar Mayer will do.
Several years ago, when we still had our furry canine girl, I decided to indulge in my special treat. She heard me in the kitchen making a sandwich, so she trotted her little 7 lb self in to see if she could score any bits. She knew the rule! We all did: if it fell on the floor, or was below a people-knee, it was hers. I had the most crumb free floors!
Anyway, she and I chatted while I made my sandwich. She sat, waiting patiently but expectantly. I’d often toss her a little piece of something whenever I was fixing food. As I spread the liverwurst on my bread, a piece fell off the knife onto the floor.
She was on that bit in nothing flat!
Then she sniffed.
And backed away.
She gave me the most quizzical dog face I’d ever seen, and if she could speak in human words, I know she’d have given me a “WTF?”
“It’s just liverwurst! G’head! Eat it! It’s yours.”
Nothing doing. She backed away another step.
“What’s the matter? It’s liverwurst! Dogs love liver!”
At that, she got up and trotted out of the kitchen in a huff. Clearly I had offended her, not once, but twice. Not only had I offered her liverwurst, which she obviously considered not-good-enough, but I’d called her the d-word.
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