So yesterday I went over to moms. It was cookie making day.
Now, Bear *loves* cookie making day, even though it's never happened quite like this before. Last time mom and my sister and I made cookies, my sister and I ended up trying to beat each other to death with the rolling pin and the cookie press. Mom was strangely dis-interested in re-enacting that yesterday, so we behaved (mostly) like civilized adults. With wine. And hummus.
Bear Zoomed around the house and yard, trying to bump us at just the right time to make a cookie (or stick of butter, or bag of sugar or flour, or... yeah) fly out of our hands and onto the floor, where he could eat it, um, I mean, clean it up for us.
Bear's helpful that way.
So we made Mexican wedding cookies, Oatmeal lace cookies (from Fannie Farmer, I think), and got about halfway through making rum balls. Luckily Mom had already made some, so we didn't have to wait.
The rum balls are really just like... chocolate, sugar, crushed vanilla wafers, and rum, I think, so are super easy to veganize (and super good with triple sec instead of rum, too...). The wedding cookies are easy to veganize, too, just swap the normal butter for EB or something. The lace cookies...
The cookbook they're from is, at the most recent, a late 1970's version. There's corn syrup, an egg, and half a pound of butter in them. I think I'll experiment with veganizing later.
So we took turns, mixing cookies, and sugaring the outside of cookies, and getting begged at by the dog. While munching roasted garlic hummus off tortilla chips. Well, and my sister had a bag of potato chips and a vat of sour cream. I somehow seem to have skipped that part.
Bear zoomed. Bear jumped. Bear attempted to eat my face, starting with my chin. Bear mouthed my hand, and my arm, and my neck... Bear was basically very very bad, all day long.
I eventually had to put him in time-out. You just look at him serious, and in a low, serious voice quietly say "go." He'll try just laying down, looking contrite right in front of you. that doesn't work, he'll be up zooming again in about ten seconds. So you do it again, pointing to the room with his "time-out" spot in it. And he'll go, looking like the most beaten, neglected, abused, starved, unloved dog ever. Tail-tucked, slinking and everything. And he'll lay on his bed and look sad at you.
But the second anyone comes to the door, he's off the bed, out in the main area, barking at the door and jumping. He's a very bad-mannered dog. Until my SD comes home. Then he's this perfect, behaved, all four feet on the ground kinda dog. very strange.
Photos when I get them. Mom has some great ones of him at the beach. No in-focus ones of the cookies, though. sry.