Annie seems to have recovered from the great “cinnamon roll” incident. Three weeks ago, in a weak moment as we were checking in to Dakota Ridge, I bought a giant cinnamon roll to eat in the afternoon. I took a few bites, then went outside to hook up the coach utilities. Next time I came back inside, there was no cinnamon roll to be found. There was a dog, and some crumbs on the floor, but nothing more. I immediately suspected the worst, and my suspicions were confirmed when Annie started barfing up cinnamon roll. Her stomach was a mess for days.
At first, I thought she was a bad dog for eating my guilty pleasure: a cinnamon roll the size of a small dog. But the more she barfed, the more my understanding evolved. She isn’t a bad dog! She is a hero! She saw what was going to happen to me. She fell on the pastry grenade, and absorbed the explosion; aftershocks to be felt for a week. She protected me from myself.
Thanks Annie. My hero.
