My wonderful next door neighbor makes fantastic cookies at Christmas and yummy Easter bread at Easter. Yes, I'm talking about religious holidays - if you don't like that talk - too bad - get over it - and don't read this.
Every year we wait in anticipation for that fabulous Easter bread. Yesterday was the day of delivery. I sliced off a small piece for my self and hubby - slathered it with butter (not that fake margarine stuff) and savored the taste.
I placed the Easter bread wrapped in foil on the center section of our kitchen island. Hubby and I then went off to the Starz's Cafe for their tasty Friday night fish fry. Upon returning home I went to the fridge to place the remains of our fish fry dinner. I noticed a crumby mess on the kitchen floor. I knew that the kid had not been home to make this disgusting mess that leaves only one other culprit that occasionally gets into trouble.
I looked on the dining room floor and noticed the crumpled foil lying on the floor near his dog bed. There he was just sitting comfortably on his dog bed banging his huge fluffy tail against the tile floor with this really guilty stupid looking expression pasted on his face.
"Bad dog, bad dog," I screamed.
He even ate the eggs on the bread - shells and all. Nothing was left except for a few telltale crumbs on the kitchen floor. The long anticipated wait for the wonderful Easter bread was wiped out in a minute or so. What will I tell our neighbor? Perhaps she made extra.