Yesterday, I was in a mood to be baking cookies.
Husband and I had attended a lecture Wednesday evening, with a cookie and punch Reception following. I like the cookies provided by the campus food service, really I do, but seems like so many times after I’ve had a few, I end up wanting to make my own for comparison purposes.
My Recipe usually brings between 5 and 6 dozen cookies, which are way too many to eat ourselves, so I got to thinking about who I could share with.
An old friend had a birthday a couple weeks back, and I know he loves my Oatmeal Cookies. I found his wife’s e-mail address and asked when and where would be good for delivery. She explained that I could take them to his place of business, but neglected to mention my intentions to her family.
The last tray came out of the oven at 10:40am. I loaded the dishwasher, washed the items in the sink which I don’t like to go into the machine. My little almost antique cookie spatula with the walnut wood handle n.e.v.e.r goes into the machine with its harsh detergent.
The Rubbermaid scraper with shortening halfway up the handle a.l.w.a.y.s goes into the machine.
Chris found this somewhat amusing. He says my use and cleaning of utensils is so arbitrary, which is why he seldom loads the dishwasher. I had to give myself a mental shake about which might be more important, the fact that I have a son who uses the word arbitrary in context, or that he has found yet another reason to steer clear of that side of the kitchen.
I decided I’d rather wash my own dishes for sentimental reasons, which leaves him time to go out and teach music to the masses.
I took half the batch of cookies to my friend at his shop. He was a bit surprised to see me, especially when I said “Happy Birthday! better Late than Never”.
Seeing that it was Noon and close to lunchtime, he reached right in, grabbed a cookie, and began munching.
A dog had been resting over by the desk. Seeing his master eating something, he came over, sat down right in front, got a look of pleasure on his face, and spoke a tiny little ‘Woof’.
My first impression was a dog so quiet when a strange woman is in the place is either well-trained or dangerous. There was that one time when my husband got bit on the leg by a dog which did not bark any warning first.
However, this dog had steady focus on the cookie.
My next thought was that my cookies are too tasty to be squandered on an animal. I was standing on the man’s private property, though, with a dog I didn’t know, so I kept my ideas inside and my mouth shut.
The cookies were a gift, and if there’s anything I learned from months of counseling, it is to let certain things go once I’ve decided to not carry around such heaviness.
These goodies I had brought away from my house for someone else to enjoy, or do with as he wished. There were still about 3 dozen back home I could consume.
Meanwhile, my friend ignored the dog and finished the first cookie, with a look of rapture on his face. He reached into the container for another. The dog again spoke that little breath of begging.
Then the guy broke off a little bit of cookie, about the size of a grape, held it out just above the dog’s nose. The dog put out its tongue and the man laid the bit on the tip, like a priest giving communion.
I’ve never seen anything like it before. I could see the love and trust between the two.
The dog received about 1/3 of that second cookie before I made my way out.
I’m glad to have seen a small part of the fun.
~~love and Huggs, Diane