Bella and the Giant Muffins
Years ago, I went to Winco with Bella, our slim, greyhound-like pit bull, to pick up a few things for dinner. When I got back to the car, I realized I’d forgotten something, so I put the groceries in the back of the car, ruffed up Bella’s scuff a bit and went back into the store.
On the way back to the car, a wave of nausea ran through me as I remembered the package of poppy seed muffins in the original bag of groceries, left alone with Bella.
As I hurried toward the car, I could see a commotion was already underway, with things flying about and pieces of cellophane stuck to the windows from static electricity. When I was 10 feet from the car, Bella looked up and our eyes locked.
“Bella!” I bellowed. She had a muffin shoved in her mouth, her cheeks like a squirrel’s, bulging full of nuts.
These were not simple muffins, but those gigantic muffins the size of a cereal bowl. “Oh God, no, Bella!”
From the side of the car, I could see four of the six muffins were already gone, with the fifth stuffed in her mouth. She knew the gig was up, but was not deterred. As I watched in horror, Bella somehow, with that large muffin stuffed in her mouth, leaned down and grabbed the last one.
There she was, looking up at me with bulging cheeks and a sixth muffin held only by her front teeth. With no time to waste, she pushed the muffin against the car window, trying to force it into an already-packed mouth.
I quickly climbed into the car, which exacerbated the situation, causing Bella to ram the muffin against the window like a jackhammer. I thought she was going to kill herself! With difficulty, I removed the sixth muffin from her jaws, but the fifth one, still packed into her cheeks, went down in one giant lump into her gullet.
Although I was mad at her, I couldn’t scold her much. After all, I was the dope who left the free muffins in sight. As we drove home in silence, me shaking my head, Bella just sat there in the front seat, facing forward with her eyes closed, very content and happy with her life.
John King is a writer and artist who feeds his dog goodies in Eureka.
