Frosting In A Can and A Dog That Will Eat Anything

“The average dog is a nicer person than the average person.” — Andy Rooney

Memories from a long-ago Christmas . . .

My mom wanted what she called a “watch dog,” something large with an imposing bark. We lived alone, and thumps and bumps in the night scared her. A dog, she reasoned, would protect us. So she went to the shelter and brought home Fifi.

            Fifi didn’t start out as a Fifi. Her name in the shelter was Flea Bag, and I wanted a new name that sounded similar, but  one with some sweetness and dignity to it. We rechristened Flea Bag as  Fifi.

            Fifi was an older dog. She looked like she was part golden retriever and part corgi. The result was a big-bodied, hairy dog with very short legs. I was in love from the moment I saw her. She was sweet and loyal, and probably a little grateful to have a home again. Fifi had a good bark that sounded like it came from a big dog, which served the purpose.

            I’d never had a dog before, so I had to learn the rules about feeding and training, though Fifi did have basic commands down. And she didn’t tug on a leash—that was probably because she was built so close to the ground. I loved my funny dog, so I thought it was okay to give her something whenever I had food. Fifi was a little scavenger, and she never turned down any of my treats . . . until one Christmas.

            In the 1960s, someone invented decorative frosting that came in a can. It came in different colors, and the cans had different nozzles that allowed the frosting to come out in squiggly shapes that would make roses, or fancy edging around a cake. One Christmas, I had an idea that frosting in a can could be a great way to decorate sugar cookies, so my mom and I went shopping and brought home a half a dozen colors. Frosting in a can was overly-processed stuff that had never been near real food. It tasted that way too --  a fake sweet, metallic flavor with acidic undertones. In short, frosting in a can was disgusting. But, it did make pretty decorations.

            I baked a few dozen cookies and decorated them, using up all the frosting. I thought that they were works of art. I took a bunch of them to school with me and tried to pass them out, but the kids were onto the bad taste, and when the cookies began landing face up in the trash, I was too embarrassed to pass out any more.

            While none of my schoolmates had any appreciation for my cookies, Fifi was happy to receive a cookie each morning. She wagged her tail, gently took the cookie from my hand, and exited through the dog door into the back yard to enjoy her treat.

            In the spring, the weather warmed and the snow melted from our back yard. The trees began to flower, and the outside became inviting again. On the first warm day that I ventured into our back yard to throw a ball for Fifi, I was met by a shocking scene. Scattered around the back yard were dozens of cookies, their canned frosting décor undisturbed by snow, ice, or freezing. Evidently Fifi was only being polite when she took the cookie from my hand each morning. As I picked up the cookies and put them in a trash, Fifi followed me around and wagged. Sometimes a dog wags its tail, not because they’re happy, but because they’re laughing.

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A lot of dogs have blessed my life since Fifi. This is a picture of Mickey, my current best friend, who has never been offered canned frosting, but thinks it’s a funny story.