Happy Birthday, Zoey!
The Zo-meister’s birthday was this past Saturday, and she didn’t get to celebrate much because Ranger was over and that meant Zoey was under a bit of house arrest. Even so, we gave her lots of lovin’, and she seemed to enjoy herself.
Tonight she got her real treat. Zoey’s favorite thing in the world is corn. That’s right, good ol’ corn on the cob, boiled to perfection and, if she gets her preference, kernels removed (cut them off, eat them, whatever you want, just remove them).
We discovered this odd love of hers when Zoey was about six months old. We awoke one morning to an odd sound. Lo and behold, Zoey was on the floor next to B’s side of the bed, mounging on a corn cob she’d pulled from the trash can, paws on either side of it like she was holding a bone. She didn’t want to give it back. A love was born.
So we knew that for her birthday, there would be nothing Zoey would like more than for the fam’ to eat corn for dinner. So we did, tonight. (We’re a few days behind. She forgives us.) B and I put our eaten cobs on a plate and set it on the counter and ran out for a very quick errand. When we got home, we didn’t think anything of the corn cobs. I went to let Scout out, and B went to watch the US soccer game. Then I went into the office to do some work. Scout sauntered in a few minutes later, ecstatic. She was really overly happy, and I soon realized it was because she had found something illegal to munch on. A corn cob.
I took it from her (she gave it up willingly, as if she knew that by coming in to the office and lying under my feet she was forfeiting the illegal property).
“B, did you see Scout get on the counters?” I asked. We’ve been having trouble with Scout’s counter surfing lately. The other night we had breakfast for dinner and she ate an entire plate of scrambled eggs. The plate was very clean when she was done. Very. So you can see why I was suspicious.
“No,” he said. “She hasn’t been. I’ve been watching. She’s been with you mainly.”
“But she had a corn cob…?” I said.
“The plate was all the way in the corner. There’s no way she could reach it.”
Then I saw it. Little patch of corn goo that had been left behind on the kitchen rug.
Zoey. She’d jumped onto the counter the moment we’d left to run our errand, and then left the cob on the floor when she’d had her fill (or we got home, whichever came first). Heck, she even put on the “Hey, Mom and Dad. Welcome home!” show for us when we walked in the door, acting like everything was normal.
The pull of the corn is just too strong for her. She can’t resist.
So Zoey did get her corn for her five-year-old birthday. And she was mighty proud, too.