Two Pounds of Butter and One Loaf of Bread

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs Does that sound like a great recipe? Two ingredients keep it simple.
Not Italian though. Two litres of olive oil might work, but without the same ring to it. Besides, Felix my German Shorthaired Point would correct you, because he did eat the two pounds of butter and the loaf of bread, fortunately not all at the same time.
 
Felix, you could say, is obedience challenged. In his defence, he would claim puppy-hood as extenuating circumstances. He learns his lessons, but at a glacial rate and suffers from Puppy Attention Deficit Disorder or PADD (you know, the sister syndrome to PAWS, Puppies Are Without Sin, a false sense of innocence that most puppies suffer).
 
Felix mastered the limpid, large brown eyed, how-could-you-accuse-me, look designed to soften the hearts of disciplinarians, very early in life. He continues to prefect this look even though he approaches the threshold of doggy adulthood.
 
The first evidence of butter theft I missed, even though I noticed strange bits of green foil on the carpet. Much later, when I went to use the butter I felt a sense of absence. I’m sure you know what I mean; that sense that something is not there that should be there. The butter melts very slowly in my brain, but finally, “Oh the butters gone,” then, “oh, the foil on the carpet,” followed by,
loud voice, “FELIX COME HERE!”
 
He enjoys posing on the bench seat at the kitchen nook. He knows his large eyed innocence comes off better if he’s sitting up tall, when he does his titled head, “who me?” look. I forget scolding needs to happen right at the time of the event. Once I finished my venting, Felix calmly walked into the family room and   threw up the evidence of his crime. Instead of shame, I detect an accusatory glint in his eyes, as if to say, “there, you’ve stressed me out so much, I’ve been sick.”
 
The Next Pound Disappears
 
Tightened security in the kitchen paid off for a time. Felix   progressed in his training a millimetre at a time. The occasional backslide occurred. He struggled with eating anything within reach on the kitchen counter. We worked to overcome obstacles, like his stomach, which never seemed to get full.
 
Then the next pound of butter disappeared. A fresh from the freezer, lovely, unsalted pound of butter destined for a batch scones. Gone. The empty foil wrap, licked clean, turned up on the kitchen floor. Add ability to unwrap foil paper around the butter to resume.
 
Security tightened up even further.
 
This time, Felix dealt with the stress of being scolded, while I waved the evidence in his face, with aplomb. He retained his meal. Yet, his thin, lean body remained thin and lean.
 
Again I got the big, limpid brown eyes, with the “why are you blaming me?” innocence. His eyes held mine unblinking. The slight tilt of the head, as if to say, “Nick, don’t you think you’re over reacting. I really don’t understand your angst.”
 
Take a deep breath, count to ten, and smile.
 
 Felix possesses charm down to his toes. On the dyke, people referred to our dogs as real killers, capable of licking the unsuspected to death in short order. They excel in the art of soliciting pats from complete strangers. Hence, angry posturing fades rapidly into, “oh isn’t he sweet.” Big moon brown eyes with that perfected hang dog look, softens any heart.
 
The Loaf of Bread
 
I preface this story with an example of Felix’s speed and craftiness.
 
I made a sandwich for lunch. On the couch in the family room, Felix seems deep into a nap, not a peep out of him. He doesn’t investigate the activity in the kitchen his normal habit. Good. I’m ready to eat, but the book I’m reading is upstairs in my bedroom. No problem. Felix appears dead to the world. I decide to make a dash for the book. How long can it take? Ten seconds up, ten seconds down. He won’t even know I’m gone.
 
I dash upstairs, grab the book, dash back down to the kitchen in time to catch Felix lifting the top  off my sandwich! There should be an Olympic sport for this. Surprised by Felix’s agility from dead sleep to sandwich thief in 20 seconds, I stand transfixed as he runs passed me with the top for my sandwich in his mouth!
 
Let us get back to the case of the missing bread.
 
That   morning, I took out a loaf of Cobs bread, www.cobsbread.com to defrost in time for lunch. I go about a slew of tasks that keep me busy all morning.
A 1.00 pm I finally break for lunch. I go into the kitchen, pick up the bread knife and reach for the bread. Not there. Odd. I search the counters. Funny. Maybe I put it in the fridge. Not in fridge. The old grey matter stirs. “Felix!”
He comes running tail wagging. “Yes Nick,” all polite like. “Is it snack time?” He does that special sit of his as if I have his undivided attention.
 
The evidence. I need the evidence. I search the house from top to bottom. Not a sign anywhere of a bread crumb, a left over morsel. Nothing.
I swear he has a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes. I need   CSI.   The evidence never lies. They’ll need their blue lasers and dusting powders on this case.  All I have is the empty bag the bread was in. The bag shows no sign of tampering. I’m sure there is DNA traces on the bag. CSI Miami where are you?
 
Felix watches me. His large brown eyes tracking me as I pace back and forth across the kitchen floor. He tilts his head from one side to the other.
 
He knows I know he did it, but he knows that I know I have no proof. Is that a smile on his floppy lips?  Will he tell Emma (our Shepard/lab cross who would never think of eating anything off the kitchen counter) later? Will they giggle in the corner?
 
I throw up my hands and resolved to work even harder on his training. I remember the vet’s admonition. “Don’t let him get the upper hand.” Felix is far to smart to let me know he has the upper hand all ready. He humours me. I catch that look in his eyes every once in awhile. “Oh all right Nick,” a roll of the big brown eyes, “if you need to feel your making progress I’ll sit for you this time. But get real, Nick, I’m a charmer and you’re under my spell.”
 
Let’s call it a draw, for now.
 
The recipe for those scones I never did get to make.
 
English Scones: Would they be anything else?
 
What you Need
 
2 cups of whole-wheat flour
1 cup of all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon of baking powder
1 tsp of baking soda
½ cup of brown sugar
1 cup of butter (unsalted of course)
1 cup of raisins (you can substitute anything, dates, apricots, dried blueberries or cranberries.
I egg beaten up
1 cup of yogurt (use low fat if you can)
 
How to Throw it Together
 
Mix the dry ingredients together. Do a good job of this or use a food processor that is what I do.
 
Cut in the cold butter, using the cutting blade for the processor, or a pastry blade, or two knives or your fingers. Its better not to handle the ingredients too much.  Toss in the raisins. Once the stuff looks like large crumbs your ready for the difficult part.
 
Beat the egg and the yogurt together, reserving a tablespoon of the mixture for brushing the top of the scones. Stir the mixture into the dry ingredients with a fork. (Not use the food process for this it will overwork the dough.)
 
Knead briefly on a floured board, just enough to get it to stick together. Cut the dough in half, shape into two rounds about 7 inches across. Place on a cookie sheer and mark into wedges with a knife. Brush the tops with the reserve liquid.
 
Bake at 425º F for about 30 minutes. They should be golden brown. Let them cool before cutting them into wedges, but not too much they are great warm with lovely unsalted…. “Felix, where’s the butter!”
 
Nick
 
Enjoy a beautiful summer morning
 
 
Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea.Robert A. Heinlein
ould relax  and get used to the idea.Robert A. Heinlein