This is a story about the time my mother made me eat a dog treat. Yes, that wonderful Sally O’Malley, who you all love so much, forced me to eat a treat designed specifically for canines. And it is for this reason that if I ever write a book it will not be dedicated to her, because of this episode of child abuse.
It was back during my high school years, back when it was easier and more likely that a child would be abused by their parent. It’s years later when the roles are reversed, and as the parent ages, children are more able to abuse them. I threaten Sal all the time that I will not hesitate to put her in a home the first chance I get. And not one of those ritzy ones, but the old folk homes that make headline news because their residents are getting neglected and abused. Force me to eat a dog treat and you’ll be spending your Golden Years eating cat food. You’ve been warned.
Anyway, I was downstairs in the bedroom and adjoining TV area that was my teenage dungeon during what I like to call my “genius years” (because that is exactly what I thought I was). I was lying on the couch, watching MTV, or some other teenage garbage, avoiding homework and attempting to be as lazy as possible on that rainy afternoon. The greyness of the outdoors made my cement basement area even more dungeonesque, with its ground level windows letting in what little light the rainclouds would allow to shine through them. This all seemed to match so well with my lovely teenage personality (not lovely at all).
Sal had been out running errands that day, and I was perfectly content to have the house to myself. Not that it really mattered, since I had confined myself to the basement TV anyway, but at least I didn’t have my mom constantly trying to talk to me. When Sally got home she yelled “hi” down the stairs to me. I yelled an unenthusiastic “hey” back up to her, my eyes never wavering from the television. After the commotion of putting all the groceries away subsided, Mom came tromping down the stairs with something in her hands.
“Here, try this.” She said, handing over whatever was in her hand. I glanced up at it, skeptically. It resembled some sort of biscuit/cookie concoction.
“No, thanks.” I responded, eyes going back to the TV.
“Just try it! I just got them at the store.” She continued.
“No, thanks. I don’t want any.”
“Come on! Just try it! They’re really good!”
“MOM. I’m not hungry. I don’t want any.”
“Just take a bite. Come on. They’re good.” She insisted.
Oh, my God. I knew my only option to get her out of my hair was to just take a damn bite.
“Ugh. Fine.” I said, snatching the biscuit out of her hand and taking a small bite out of it. I instantly let it fall out of my mouth and into my other hand. It tasted like flour. Not sweet or cookie-like at all. “Ew. It’s gross.” I said and handed the remains of the cookie and the rejected bite back to her.
“AHAHAHAHAHHAHAA!” Sal cracked up. “It’s a dog treat! HAHAHAHAHA”
I stared at her with my unimpressed teenage eyes. “You’re hilarious.” I stated, rolling my eyes and going back to my MTV. I couldn’t let her win. I would not laugh. I must act annoyed. Through her boisterous giggling, she explained that she had bought them for Steve (our dog) at some all natural dog bakery that had just opened. They were made of flour, molasses, and other natural boring crap which is how she conjured up this “hilarious” prank. I knew the persistent pushing to get me to eat this thing was a bit suspicious. I’ve now explained to her that she really could have played out this practical joke much better than that (although I guarantee I would have had the same reaction).
To this day she still cracks up when I tell this story (to friends, not CPS, although the thought has crossed my mind a time or twelve). And although I am past my teenage years, I still have the same eye-roll-with-a-bored-sigh response. I put a fake cockroach in her bed once, years before the dog treat incident, and she nearly had a heart attack. Now there’s a prank I can laugh at! Alas, I guess the dog treat was payback for me. But that also means that the ball is in my court now…hmmm…
