Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Baron von Entenfall—also known as Stups, the Greedy. From the day I was born, I’ve been very greedy. I was always the one scrambling for the most breast milk.
I love my new family because Becky, my mom, always cooks such delicious food.
“Mmmmmmm, that smells soooooo inviting!”
The aroma of roast meat lures me straight to the dinner table. The saliva gathers in my mouth and drips onto the floor. I leap up on the chair, but at the very last second, Becky catches me and shoves the chair towards the table. Still, I almost manage to snag a piece of roast pork. That’s not so easy for a small poodle.
“Stups, the chair is no place for you to sit.”
I’m disappointed, but I keep standing next to the table. Who knows? Maybe she’ll give me some of that juicy meat and delicious-smelling sauce after all. I follow her into the kitchen. That’s where my dog food is. I know that already. I beg my mom with my most devoted dog eyes: “Please give me some of your food, too.”
“OK, Stups. You’ve melted my heart.”
She puts some noodles and gravy in my bowl. Ecstatic, I clean it all up, including the dog food.
“I’ll be back home soon, Stups. Be a good boy now.” The door closes behind Becky.
That seductive scent has been tempting me for hours, and now it lures me into the kitchen. There must be something really special up on that table. Again and again, I try to leap up onto the tabletop using every bit of strength I have. At one point, I almost make it—and what do I see? A salami stick! That gives me a boost, and on the next try, I grab the end of the sausage and haul it down onto the floor.
“This is gonna be a feast!”
With my head held high, I cart the fragrant sausage into the living room. There, I make myself comfortable under the coffee table. Then I peel off the salami skin with my little front teeth, all nice and neat. Bit by bit and with great gusto, I finish off my spicy prize.
When Becky comes home, she’s surprised to see the leftover skin lying on the living room floor.
“Stups, I don’t believe you did this!”
Why do the Italians make their salami so spicy? For days, all I can do is stand by my water dish.
Another true short story from my book “Who is the Coach here?” © Anna Roth