Davey and I had only just gotten home from working with my father-in-law when we had to leave again to buy dog food and oral hygiene profucts. Aidan stood on the arm chair, watching as we dashed out the door, his face a melting puddle of sadness and confusion at this ultimate betrayal. His eyes glistened moistly and his pout almost reached heaven at the apex.
Davey, unlike me, had been very touched by the vision of suffering Aidan presented, and when we arrived in the dog food aisle at the grocer's Davey tossed Aidan's normal brand of dry food in the cart and began to peruse the wet food section for a special dinner treat.
"Poor Aidan hasn't had anyone home with him all day," said Davey, sadly. "I want to give him a treat, because he's so lonely all the time."
"Which one are you going to get him? Oooh, this one describes itself as 'filet mignon flavored'," I said, grabbing a premium looking container.
"Get that one," said Davey.
"Oh, shit. Porterhouse steak flavor," I said, in a deep voice to convey the masculinity of that meal option.
Davey snatched that one out of my hand. "This is the one Aidan should have," he said, holding it in front of him with both hands, grinning with delight at how much Aidan was going to enjoy the treat of wet food.
An hour later, after a visit to JoAnn's Fabric for craft supplies, where my dream of having a cute box full of cute buttons rose up into the air and was smashed down by Davey's staunch refusal to have anything to do with any more knickknacks in our bedroom, we returned home. Davey unpeeled the lid from the container of fancy meat dinner and plopped the contents into Aidan's bowl, where it both retained it's shape like jello from a mold and began to ooze fine, translucent gravy.
Aidan seemed frightened of the delicious concoction that graced his food dish, as he usually did when presented with new dog food. He skirted the bowl skittishly.
"What's wrong, buddy?" asked Davey, as Aidan darted forward and took a little lick of his steak flavored pate, then darted away.
"What- what is this?"Aidan queried.
"It's dog food, buddy," he replied.
"I don't think it is," said Aidan.
Davey grabbed a knife and began breaking up the cube of food so that Aidan would find it more recognizable. I wandered into the living room to stand with Rex as Davey gave the dog food one more smush and cleaned the knife. Aidan danced around the bowl anxiously.
"It looks different now!" he said, doubtful of this shape changing glob.
"Is that the heavenly scent of fat and low grade meat?" asked Rex, perking up.
Aidan hazarded another bite. "I think it might be food," he shared with the group, and began to graze on the dripping porterhouse flavored puree like an antelope in the Serengeti might graze upon grass in lion territory. Rex crept stealthily up behind Aidan and gave his butt a good sniff before creeping a little closer to his ear.
"Could I have some?" he asked.
"No, thanks," said Aidan, once again misusing a polite phrase.
"Boy, I'm just so hungry," said Rex, piteously.
"Don't let that cat have any," said Davey. "I got this for my special buddy, Aidan."
"Daddy says no," said Aidan, still nervously sampling the contents of his bowl.
Rex moved a little closer. "That guy is not my Dad. Hey, did you know that sometimes, for fun, humans who hate dogs sneak into the factory and put poison into wet dog food so dummies like you eat it all up like a greedy pig and then the poison comes into your blood from your belly and you DIE?"
"Eek!" Aidan scuttled away from the dish. Rex lunged for it, but my brother, who was visiting, picked him up and carried him out of the room.
"Eat," said Davey, gesturing to the dish.
Aidan regarded the meal from his safe spot on the arm chair. "No thanks," he said. "I'm not very hungry."