I'm feeling a little flat...

Ha! Ha! 

Cooking with Clive!

Whilst doing a little browsing online I noticed there were lots of lots of suggestions for homemade dog treats. Imagine my surprise! So many people out there cooking their dogs lovely lovely treats!

So, I was thinking. I happened to overhear Dad saying that the no-salt peanut butter you'd mistakenly bought him recently was bogging. Bogging. And you'd mistakenly bought two jars. Sooooooo....

Peanut Butter Dog Biscuits

2 cups plain flour (whatever colour you fancy)
1 cup peanut butter (bogging stuff is fine, absolutely fine)
I cup milk (or even water - really just want to make it as simple as possible)
1 cup oil (whatever's lying around)

Oven onto 190 C / 375 F.

Mix  peanut butter, milk/water and 1/2 of the oil. Stir that gloop hard! Add flour and stiiiiiiir some more. Put some elbow grease into it! Add rest of oil. Probably can't stir anymore, too thick. Maybe do some mixing instead?

When it all sticks together, dump it onto a floured surface and get rolling. 1/4 inch thick is what we're after. Feel free to use cutsey wutsey biscuit shape cutters, but remember I don't care what shape they are, just don't stop until they're done!

20-30 mins in the  hot thing until cooked through and golden brown.

Please cook these. Please. We have the ingredients but I can't use the oven. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.

Not the response I'd hoped for

Her: Thank you for your letter, Clive
Me: Pleasure, Mum, pleasure.
Her: It's nice to see you empathising, Clive.
Me: Are you suggesting I haven't before?
Her: No, of course not. I just meant, publicly, as it were.
Me: Oh, right. So what do you think to a truce?
Her: Well, I was quite taken with the notion. Especially since you didn't ask for food. That must have taken a lot of control.
Me: I can have control over my stomach, when it's appropriate. It just isn't very often.
Her: Was it appropriate tonight to to take up your begging position at the kitchen door approximately 15 seconds after you'd finished your dinner?
Me: Er...
Her: After a special dinner of one of your favourite treats?
Me: Um...
Her: You stink after eating pilchards in tomato sauce, you know that right? Yet I give them to you anyway because you love them. And it was a whole can. A Whole Can.
Me: Ah...
Her:  You know I gave that to you because I was so pleased with your olive branch. So how do you think I felt to find you back begging again straight afterwards?
Me: .....
Her: Quite. Nothing to say to that. Why should I give you treats when they obviously don't satisfy you? It's just frustrating for both of us.
Me: Wait a minute...
Her: I think we should both take some time to think about this.
Me: Hang on...

Damnation!

Dear Mother

Where did we go? My baby. Where did we go?

Wise words, Mother, I think you will agree. Following the recent wet troubles that Wales has experienced, and the tales of near misses heard over the bar last night, I find myself in a reflective mood this morning. Our petty squabbles seem insignificant (though I must clarify that food itself is not insignificant, and never will be - this is me after all).

But I find myself wondering if a truce might not be possible?

I ask for little, only a reignition of our formerly loving relationship. A belly scratch here for me, a wiggly tail there for you. A few moments now and again to just be together.

Yes, we will tussle. Yes, you will never give me as much food as I desire. Yes, you will come at me with scissors on a depressingly regular basis. And yes, from time to time I will, inevitably, roll in something stinky. But we can overcome these difficulties. Perhaps with the Power of Love?

I wear my heart on my sleeve in the hope that we can walk a smoother path together.

Your furry first born,

Clive

Bring back the Treats Campaign Report #3

1. Being nice did not work. It was also a depressing endeavour when there was so little reciprocation.

2. Standing on the dining room table, digging up the flower beds and being sick on the carpet four times at mum's parents house was not particularly successful either. Haven't quite figured out why yet as these seemed to be excellent attention grabbing exercises.

3. I suspect Dylan has gone behind my back, broken the treat campaign picket lines and discovered a method of extracting treats which he has not shared. Twice this week he has smelt distinctly of salt and vinegar which means only one thing. Crisps! While it is possible these came from customers, Mum has them so well trained these days they don't dare feed us. So, I have only one conclusion. Mum has fed that Whippet without me. My heart hardens.

4. Future plans are still hazy. My genius plan of taking food off the baby has had to be cancelled as this seems a very unpopular approach. I can't even suck my cheeks in and look too thin as I have a shaggy coat right now and that hides my diminutive figure.

Ideas on a postcard?