Well, I guess I blew it this time and no use trying to evade it. I smelled that brocoli pie and it was sitting on the edge of the counter, so...I managed to get a little bite out of the pastry on the edge before I let the dish slide a bit and Bracha heard the noise and came to see what was going on. I got what I deserved: a hearty "NO!" and was sent to my corner. Then Bracha turned her back and crossed her arms to show she was angry, and I was sorry. After a few minutes I came over to the computer and gently put my head in her lap to say I was sorry. Then she looked at me long and hard and when I pushed again with my nose I knew we would make up again. We discussed it: I said I would try not to stand up and steal food in the kitchen again, and Bracha promised that she would be careful not to put food on the edge of the counter where I can reach it because she knows I succumb to temptation. Than I got a big hug and one of those nice back massages where Bracha rumples all my fur, and I knew everything was OK again.
Yesterday on the way home from Haifa where once again Bracha spent the afternoon cuddling the tiny Emma, I discovered that trains have a special place for guide dogs: a little tunnel in between the seats, like a little dog house. Af first I didn't want to go in there, but Bracha patted the floor inside and I crept into the little place and found that it was cozy and nice. It was also better than getting my tail stepped on in the aisle. I slept inside there all the way home.
And the latest slip of the tongue:
"I once had a dog like that, in the south. It's a landrover, isn't it?"
"You mean a Labrador?"
"Oh, yes, a Labrador."
"No, she's not a landrover, or a Labrador." She's a golden retriever."
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