Boom

Earlier tonight, I made a glass baking pan shatter. I had used it to cook meat in the oven, then decided to try to make a sauce from the drippings. Because it had cooled off while I googled "make sauce from pan drippings," I put it on a couple burners to warm it up while I made the sauce. Which turned out great, by the way. I poured it over the meat on my plate, and I was well into my meal when I heard a bang behind me and turned around, and there were the shards of the dish. Pieces were on the stove, the nearby counter, and the floor near the stove.

Naturally, my dog came running to see what the fuss was about, so I ordered him away, then put him in his crate. I was worried that he would try to eat the meat-infused glass off the floor. I finished my meal, then cleaned. I swept the floor. I picked up the major glass pieces from the stove—including out of the burner trays—and counter, then wiped every surface with damp paper towels. I threw away an old oven mitt that had glass fragments on it. I threw away the butter from a dish that was standing on the counter, in case any glass got in it, and I poured the sugar from an open sugar bowl down the drain with hot water. I damp-mopped the floor. After it dried, I saw one more piece of glass just out there in the middle of the floor. I don't know how I missed it. I picked it up, but then I felt I had done my best to protect my dog from broken glass, and I let him out of his crate. I also rinsed and wiped his water and food dishes and gave him new water.

I try not to compare my dog to other people's children, because I know that a dog is not a child. But there are similarities in the kind of care and protection you have to give them because they don't know enough to keep themselves safe.



Okay, I'll admit I talk baby-talk to my dog all the time and even call him "baby," as well as "puppy," "goofus," "silly," "pup-boy," and variations on these themes.