Guilty

Last night I made two NY strip steaks. Half of mine is left for me to make steak and eggs for my husband in the morning and he should feel guilty because he’s going to ruin it with steak sauce.

The rule is that you don’t ruin my good steak with sauce at dinner, but it’s OK when it’s rested overnight and will now be overcooked with eggs over medium. It’s a compromise called marriage.

My guilt is that as our wonderful dog Zoe declines I think I’ve another pup in me, to raise, and am starting to look into it. Sorry, Zoe. She can’t get up to the bed anymore and is now struggling to get down. Her first senior bloodwork  panel was fine and I know what cart to get if she needs it to move around.

I hate to see her go downhill but her health is OK. I’m just asking questions for the future and hope she knows I’ll not do anything that would jeopardize her final years. Guilt. Catholic, it’s inbred. She’s never jealous of other dogs but I feel bad for even looking. Guiltily your writer de jour, Dee

 

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