With by Donald Harington

Author:Donald Harington [Harington, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2011-08-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-seven

Too bad the dinner was so meager. Robert got one drumstick and she got the other one, and Robin ate most of the rest. It hadn’t been a very large bird to begin with. She had eaten all of the doggy nuggets that had been in her Christmas stocking, understanding full well that the supply of that particular kind of food was running out, and that the time would come when Robin might no longer be able to feed her.

But remembering the huge bird they’d had at Thanksgiving, she had looked forward to a similar feast for Christmas, and was disappointed and restless and famished. She wasn’t simply eating for two now. She was eating for perhaps four or five or even six. For several days now, her appetite had been doubled, at least. There was no way she could tell Robin to please put twice as much Purina chow in her bowl. She could only whine and linger expectantly over the bowl, but Robin didn’t get the hint.

There were times when she seriously considered eating Robert. It would not only furnish her with much-needed calories and proteins and all that but it would also rid the premises of a nuisance. The bigger Robert had grown, the friskier he had become, and he was constantly in motion, practically bouncing off the walls, and it got on her nerves, especially when she was trying to rest. She didn’t care whether or not Robert or Robin understood that she was pregnant, but she had to get them to understand that she needed more rest and peace and quiet than usual. She liked to curl up beside the stove and sleep for hours, but Robert had other ideas: he wanted to play, he wanted to chew on her, he wanted to chase her tail (alas, he had none of his own to chase), he wanted to climb up to the back of the davenport, pretending it was a tree limb and he a mountain lion, and then leap upon his prey, her, and knock the wind out of her. She honestly could not understand the reason for the affection she felt for him, which kept her from eating him. Or maybe it was simply that she understood he wouldn’t be very tasty.

Fortunately, but embarrassingly, ever since the man had ceased existing and thus had ceased eating many eggs, there was a great surplus of eggs, more than Robin could ever possibly use and more than the hens themselves wanted to sit upon and hatch, and thus, in the interests of self-preservation and to keep her stomach from growling at her (often she had awakened from sleep at full alert, thinking another dog was in the room), she had gone to the henhouse and sucked an egg or two. She was now regrettably a dyed-in-the-wool chronic egg-sucking dog, but she was almost tired of eggs. You really couldn’t sink your teeth into their contents, so while they might be nourishing they weren’t much fun to eat.

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