Doggy Bags or Daddy Bags

My dad (for whom we can blame my sense of humor) wanted me to share this story on my blog because he thought it was funny. My reaction was a little different than his.

This post is for you, Daddy, in honor of Father's Day.

Jay (my husband), Caleb and Zoe (our dogs), and I visit my parents across the country at least once a year. On our last trip, one of my cousins took Jay and me out to lunch. Caleb is my Medical Alert dog, so he went to the restaurant with us, but Zoe (a little Bichon-mix) had to stay home. 

We ordered barbequed ribs. Delicious. I collected the fatty scraps, chopped them up, and put them in a "doggy bag" to dole out to my spoiled pups throughout the next week (to the Pet Police: we mix very small amounts with their dry food for flavor). I also packed up a ton of fries that we hadn't even touched.

Fat and half-chewed-on-meat for the dogs

After lunch, we stopped by my parents' house. I went in to tell my dad, "We're going to the cabin to watch a movie. I'll call you if we're going to be gone more than a couple of hours. Oh, and I brought food for you," I added, as I shoved the containers in the refrigerator. "They gave us way too many fries." 

As evening fell, I dutifully called home to say, "Dad, we decided to eat dinner here. Zoe's probably hungry by now, so could you feed her? In the refrigerator you'll find two containers. One has fries for you. The other has fat that I brought home for the dogs. Just mix like half a teaspoon of that in Zoe's dry food or she won't eat it."

My mom was at my sister's house, so I expected my dad to be a little grumpy when he found out he'd be eating alone, but I was surprised to hear how annoyed he sounded when he snapped, "You said you brought food home for me."

"Fries are food. I didn't say that I brought you an entire meal. You can make some scrambled eggs. French fries taste good with eggs."

Looks like food to me

"You said you brought food home for me!" he persisted.

"Dad, you can figure out something to eat with the fries. There's lunch meat in the refrigerator. Why don't you make a sandwich? After you eat, will you please feed Zoe?"

"You said you brought food home for me!" was his stubborn reply.

"Sorry, dad, but all we had left were fries. Eat them or not--your choice. Anyway, in the other container you'll find a blob of chopped fat covered in sauce from the barbequed ribs. Just mix a tiny bit into one scoop of Zoe's dry food, okay?" 

"You said you brought food home for me!" he insisted, slowly and distinctly, as if I were the one with a communication problem.

I was getting exasperated when Jay laughingly interrupted me with the interpretation. "Pamela, he's trying to tell you that he thought you brought the fat home for him, and he already ate it!"  

Oops.

Ew!! 

Verse of the day:  (I Corinthians 10:27b, 31) "...eat whatever is set before you, asking no question for conscience’ sake...Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do it to the glory of God."

My dad grew up during the Great Depression when lard on toast was a treat, so he insists the fries with barbeque-sauce-soaked-fat were delicious. I'll take his word for it.