A sleepy-eyed Ash showed up at the doorstep tonight around five. Its always nice seeing him just before it gets dark to get a good look at him and his coat. He clearly had just woken up because he proceeded to use our driveway as a nice place to stretch, yawn, and open his eyes.
I grabbed some old corned beef deli meat that has been brewing in our fridge to give him. I figured the option of something other than Walmart hotdogs might be palatable for him on this windy night. As his slumbered self moseyed on over, he took a bite and walk a couple feet away.
He dropped it in the driveway and came back for more.
Smelling what was in the dish (and I think finally waking up due to the smell) he walked away and back over to the piece that he had dropped.
He ate it- loudly.
As if it was a child trying spinach for the first time- (get that visual)
Looked at me.
Then trotted away.
He has yet to come back tonight.
Lesson learned. Ash is not Irish.
How dare I insult his heritage with a poor mans Irish dinner. And since I am from Massachusetts I have conducted a calculation which leads me to believe that Ash is Italian. Because if you are NOT Irish- you must be Italian...... My Massachusetts friends will understand this calculation.
Menu tomorrow night: Walmart Hotdogs. Possibly lasagna.
On a brighter note my friend Sam pointed out that Ash, no doubt, is a Red Sox fan.
This made my night.
Haha. If he's not Irish, he's Italian. Clearly. And no doubt he's a Sox fan. :)
ReplyDeleteI mean he has to be....his favorite color is red. It just works.
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