Today, the dogs and I walked to the local strip shopping centre because we were out of bread. We went there because I was too lazy to walk the other way. This was a mistake, because our local milkbar doesn’t know bread from a hole in the ground, and the “bakery” is a purveyor of ghostloaves.*
So it was that I came home with an inferior loaf of white bread which I dumped on the kitchen counter while I went about the business of getting ready for a day out gallivanting with a friend, while the kids indulged their own busy social lives.
About twenty minutes later I was looking for something or other and my distracted gaze fell onto a plastic bag on the floor, in the living room, containing… about three slices of bread. I actually wondered whether it was possible that it was a different bread bag, but then remembered that the chances of me buying that stuff twice in a row were remote indeed. Someone had scoffed over three-quarters of a loaf of bread.
Both dogs look equally guilty, but I’m pretty sure which dog it is. To put that in context, he’s just nearly succeeded in polishing off something the same size as he is. Come to think of it, he does resemble a loaf of Karl’s Light Rye on spindly little legs.
If I wasn’t such a nice person, that dog would be languishing at home while the rest of us go to the Island to
perish with cold go for long walks on the beach and chase the waves. As it is, he’s coming with us.
* “Ghostloaf” is a word for which there is no google result whatsoever. It was coined by the Australian novelist David Foster in his Postal Pastoral novel Dog Rock. “Ghostloaf” refers to a commercially made loaf which is made up from a sack of pre-prepared Commercial Bakery mix and which lacks flavour and texture, being mostly made up of air when baked.