I don't know why I left my favorite subject--food--for last.
Any dog that visits Prescott learns soon enough that it's a dog-friendly town. A lot of restaurants let dogs sit in their patio areas. Rooster's Restaurant even gave me a big bowl of water! The problem wasn't with the restaurants: the problem was Emmy.
Emmy never gave me one single bite of her food. She didn't "accidentally" drop any roast beef shavings in her submarine from Rooster's Restaurant. She didn't give me any of the warm, runny brie laced with maple syrup that she slathered on a baguette at the Firehouse Kitchen. (It's killing me to write this! I'm drooling like crazy.) She didn't even dip her finger into her coffee and let me lick it at Starbucks or at the Wild Iris Coffeehouse.
Eating in was the same story: no table scraps. Emmy vaccuumed before you came home so you didn't know, Mom, but she usually left crumbs on the floor after a meal. One of Emmy's favorites was the cranberry walnut raisin loaf of which she found at New Frontiers. I loved those crumbs.
Sometimes Emmy left me alone. (Don't tell her, but I would just take a nap and was fine.) One day she drove to Sedona for a holistic pedicure by Deb Lovejoy.
"Deb is one of my favorite people in the world," said Emmy. "She's spiritual and wise--and her pedicures last for a month!" Emmy wiggled her toes in my face.
My toenails would look fetching with pink polish, all 20 of them. Mom, the next time we're in Sedona, could I get a Holistic Peticure? And could we buy some of the low-sugar scones that Emmy got at New Frontiers? She tried to hide them by eating them in the car on the way home, but you can't fool me. The scones left behind a great number of crumbs in the front seat.
"Coco, I'm going to a play today," said Emmy one morning. I was jealous. I thought she meant she was going "to play" with another dog.
"No, sweetie," said said, scratching under my chin. "I'm using 'play' as a noun. It's a little like a movie. You wouldn't like it."
I beg to differ! Turns out there was a dog in the play. The play, put on by the Prescott Fine Arts Association, was 37 Postcards. Except for the leading man, the leading lady, and the secondary characters, the dog was the star. Even though he was offstage.
But the point of this story isn't about the play, it's that Emmy arrived early and went to the Raven Cafe for iced coffee.
"There were only two people ahead of me in line," Emmy told me later, "and two waitresses behind the counter. But it took 15 minutes before anyone helped me. One of the young waitresses was an angst ridden type who has to tell the the world she Hates Her Job. Finally I stopped being irritated and just laughed at how ridiculous the situation was."
I was sitting on Emmy's lap as she was talking, close enough to sniff her mouth. She'd left out one crucial detail: she'd had eaten a croissant along with that iced coffee.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maybe instead of being a writer, I should be an actor. Or a chef; I have a discriminating palate. I tell you, Mom, writing this blog has opened up so many worlds for me!
If you want Emmy to visit again, you can go to Emmy the Pet Sitter, her new web site. I'm helping her with it!