just call me horchata

I go the the kitchen, open the refrigerator, take out a block of cheese, open a drawer, and get a knife. The dogs in the other end of the house have done analysis on this series of sounds and come running into the kitchen like freight trains.

They all look up at me, so pitiful, their eyes programmed to say, "we are all in the final stages of starvation and will surely die in the next fifteen minutes unless we get some cheese."

So, I give each a little piece of cheese. Nothing really changes except the eyes are now saying, "OK, so we will now live twenty minutes. Keep cutting, boy."

My favorite thing to yell out in the night: "Sasha, will you PLEASE stop licking your pussy."