When the French queen Marie-Antoinette said, “let them eat cake” (which she probably didn’t really say, but it makes a good story), she wasn’t talking about dogs.
My dog ate the cake . . . but I didn’t let her.
I have a Vizsla, a wonderful breed which originates in Hungary. They are faithful, smart, loving, and affectionate. They are also two-thirds legs. Long legs which are great for stretching and jumping. They can reach things on countertops with legs for which Dachshunds would kill. Things like cakes.
Our first Vizsla would have won an Olympic gold medal for commandeering foodstuffs from tables and counters. When we rehomed our present dog, Tess, at age four, she appeared to have not learned the technique. We never fed her people-food, and she seemed content with the stuff made for doggies. We don’t know what happened, but not long ago she developed a fixation for the stuff we two-leggers eat. We now have to make sure no foodstuffs are near the edge of a countertop lest Tess exercise her newly discovered, God-given long-reach talent. Back to the cake.
My wife always makes our daughter an angel food cake for her birthday. The party was at her home this year, and I was tasked to bring the cake and meet my wife there. It was covered with green frosting and with daffodils sprouting from the hole in the middle. I moved the cake to the middle of the countertop and went into the garage to find a box for it. Coming back into the house, Tess met me with sweet-smelling green stuff on her muzzle. Yup, the cake was gone. Rather, it was transferred from the kitchen counter to Tess’ stomach. If she had been a cat, she’d have been smiling like a Cheshire.
The party was to begin in five minutes. So I broke the speed record from my house to the bakery, raced back to re-frost said cake, and arrived at the party a bit late . . . but with cake.
All’s well that ends well. Including the dog. She did not seem to experience any deleterious effects, for which I was thankful, from eating a whole frosted cake. Tess was also thankful . . . for our daughter’s birthday.
