April 12, 2019

White Dog and every member of the White Dog Army crowded against me. They came in hopes that I would share my working lunch with, as Opal put it, "the absolutely starving and well behaved caregivers of momma."

White Dog was more to the point. "You know that the only thing better than duck jerky is duck pate, those little pickles and a bread. It would be mean not to share a meal that is meant for friends and loves."

I looked around the desk at all of the faces. The pate was a gift of celebration...a generous late birthday present that Steve cannot eat. And secretly, I had meant to surprise the Army in any case.

I put Enya music on the computer and began spreading schmears of the heady meat on torn bites of German country rye. Then I turned to face my lunch companions. "No being greedy," I reminded. "This is very rich so there will only be one bite per customer...and a cornichon if you want it. Take your time and savor it."

The last fell on 16 deaf ears but all remembered the one bite caution and did not ask for more. However, crumb snuffling, lip licking and paw cleaning did take quite a few minutes after.