I am watching momma cry. Big fat tears are rolling down her cheeks. I am annoyed as I witness this and I am shaking my beautiful little head. I am NOT feeling one shred of sympathy for the woman. NONE. In fact, I think she deserves everything that is coming to her. Oh, you think so? I am not being harsh, or mean or anything of the sort. I am simply stating the truth. She had it coming.
Before you judge me, walk in my paws. This morning, we had a lovely breakfast, we enjoyed a lovely walk, we watched the lovely birds of spring and listened to them all over the yard, all and all a "quintessentially perfect spring morning". It was made even more perfect when we started smelling the chicken soup that is simmering on the stove. And it became near nirvana perfect when the smell of corned beef cooking slowly started wafting in our noses. So much so, that both the Wendy and I decided to keep momma company in the kitchen. And she even gave us each a liver lip treat. It was heavenly. It was making me grateful for my life, and I was starting to drift off in that feast anticipatory sleep... when BAM. Ick. Out came that ugly root. That nasty foul smelling, horrid looking root she calls "horseradish".... I know some horses, and they would nevah deal in such caca. She washed the stupid thing which was caked in dirt. There is a lesson here... It belongs buried. It should have stayed buried. But nooooo she then peeled it nasty mucky skin... and then... she fed it to the Robot Coupe.... which ... sensibly, predictably... immediately spat it out releasing all that nasty smell and pungent pain inducing aroma. Is there paint that needs to be removed around here? In less than 1 minute, momma thrashed out perfect morning and caused all of the hair inside our noses to be permanently curled . HELLLLLOOOOO did you forget our sensitive noses???? Are you trying to kill us???? The only justice is that we walked off [yes we have functional brains... still] she is still there... red nose, leaky eyes, invoking powers to be to let her survive this... she is sputtering, coughing and sniffling. Like I said, I am out of sympathy. She had it coming. why on earth would anyone do this to themselves or to their loving, innocent, sweet, gentle Bichons?
She starts to tell me about traditions. Like I care. This is like trying to pass ritual torture on as a tradition. No it does not play. No I don;t care about Passover, about any food dealing with horseradish. Are you joking? You don't eat the stupid thing? So why? Daddy. Momma, honey, next year, buy the stupid jar. Daddy will GET OVER IT... I am sure I am never getting over today...