My Dog Pete.
BY Ed Page
I was sitting out on the porch with my dog Pete. A breathtaking sunset was streaked across the sky and it had put me in a reflective mood.
“You know, Pete,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about salads.”
Pete looked at me, one ear cocked slightly higher than the other.
“When you hear the word ‘salad,’ you instantly think of lettuce, right? But what about fruit salad? And potato salad? It makes me think that a salad is really just a jumble of different foods, regardless of whether lettuce is involved.”
From the look on Pete’s face I could almost believe he was intrigued.
“But what about soup, Pete? By that definition, aren’t soups nothing more than hot liquid salads?”
For a second, it looked like Pete was going to say something. But, of course, he didn’t. He’s a dog. He simply leaned back in his chair, took a long, deep draw on his pipe, and gazed out at the dazzling horizon.
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