Bread Is On the Rise

It’s late at night as I type this entry, well; it’s all in what you consider late. After a extra warm shower (because I’m at home for the holiday), shaving my legs (much needed, the bunny doesn’t need competition for how much fur is on the legs), and brushing my hair out like Marsha Brady (100 times does the charm), I am relaxing as I prepare to sleep. The problem is that I’m not ready, dag nabit! So I decided to come down here and do more than just blog but talk to some people online and do what I do best: eat bread.

Even as a child, I had a craving for bread. I remember making homemade noodles at my grandmother’s house and just dying for us to finish up and get the ok from her to eat the leftover dough. When I was in the 6th grade or so, Indy, our dog, was adopted from the shelter and brought home to live with us. We didn’t even make it home without him having separation anxiety when we made an impromptu stop at the Indiana Wally World. I distinctly remember him sitting on my head in the back seat and crying up a storm as he saw his new “mommy” walk away in the parking lot to get some treats for him inside. But discussing my canine’s quarks and oddities is blog for another day. The one thing he brought home was something him and I share to this day: a love for bread.

As a pup, the dog devoured a ton of items, like plastic, grass, denim, and other assorted fabrics and materials. As far as food goes, bread was his favorite among all the leftovers we had to offer. At the time, our second dog, Lilly, hadn’t arrived, so it was “All about Indy”, at least in his mind. Any leftover bread that had expired was his because face it, the dog is a mutt. I don’t say that in a cruel and unloving manner, I am only speaking the truth. Indy is a German Shepherd/Beagle/Husky/Greyhound. He’s the “America” of canines, a melting pot of nationalities.

I love bread as well. As a snack, I find the softest and fluffiest roll of buns available. Potato bread is my kryptonite for when I see it, I must devour. Every time I visit John’s house there is usually a stock of potato bread hot dog or hamburger buns. It’s uncommon for him to come out into the kitchen and see that I have sneaked out a bun for a treat. Sometimes eating the bread itself is better than the sandwich, my mother knows this full well.

So I am done with my bread and reading for my extended staring at my eyelids. This may be the most depressing or pathetic blog I have ever written: a story of my dog and our love of bread. Good grief, next thing you know I’ll be telling the stories of my stuffed animals, haha. But on another note…

HAPPY EASTER!

HE HAS RISEN!

GOODNIGHT!