I just came home from work to find my dog eating my rug. I’m pissed. But not just because he ate my rug and had the audacity to continue eating as I walked in. Because it’s a MADELINE WEINRIB rug that I got at ABC Carpet for a steal after finding it on the bottom of the pile on the remnant floor. The steal of the century. The kind of steal that designer types would say “Wow! What a steal!” and not just my friends and family. It matched everything and made my kitchen look really good. Like magazine good. Call me a callous superficial snob. I don’t care. Right now I like my rug more than I like my dog. In fact, I hate very much dislike because hate is a very strong word my dog. I’m mad that he ate my Madeline.
I don’t deserve this. I give him delicious food. Treats. Filtered water. The occasional chicken from the leftovers. I give him baths. I take him on walks. I brush him. I play with him. I worry about him at doggy daycare. And what does he do? He eats my rug. My Madeline Weinrib rug. Why couldn’t he have eaten something else? Is that asking too much? Eat the chairs. The throw in the living room. Eat my daughters’ stuffed animals or homework! Please. Eat ANYTHING but my Madeline.
Yes, I know. It’s a stupid thing to lament in this day and age. But I’m through being paranoid that the world is going to end (in case you just woke up, it didn’t). So I’m bringing it down to a trifling suburban level. And I’m getting mad about my Madeline.
I read that dogs only have thirty-second memories. So I already blew it because I let him out to pee and then I yelled at him instead of yelling at him first. And now he doesn’t remember why. Which leaves me steaming and staring at this.
What should I do? Should I rationalize and tell him that there are doggies everywhere who don’t have the luxury of sleeping on a designer rug? That there are dogs who are forced to spend their time on low-end Dupont Stainmasters and the Home Depot specials of the week…even {gasp!} Astroturf?? Does he have no understanding how good his life is????
Oh now he’s trying to be all coy standing at the door. Well it’s not going to work. Not today. Sorry, pal. Sorry, Madeline eater.
There is a cute café in my neighborhood called Le Madeline. It’s French, in that "suburban chain restaurant but we’ll try to make it look unique" kind of way. Nevertheless, there’s a good spinach tomato basil salad that I sometimes get. I think we’ll have it for dinner modified as a pizza to honor the deceased.
Ingredients:
Directions:
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