There are two little puppies in this town who I absolutely love. They are fat, with round stomachs that stick out on the sides. One is white with black spots. The other is white with golden spots. They are utterly delectable. They hang around with their mom, who is generally lying on her side, panting. They trot back and forth across the road, playing with each other, and eagerly sniffing passers-by.
One night I bought them a piece of honey butter cake. They devoured it, and then looked up at me with expectant eyes. I had nothing left to feed them, so I just gave them pets. The next night, excited to feed them again, I bought a loaf of brown bread. There was no cake left at the shop. When I crumbled it in front of them, they sniffed it, then looked up at me and wagged their tails, waiting. “Eat it,” I said to them, gesturing to the wholesome bread on the ground. They sniffed it again, looked up, and continued wagging their tales good-naturedly. No matter how much I poked and prodded the bread in their direction, they would have nothing to do with it.
The next night they broke into the Blue Heaven Café where I was having dinner with a friend. Eager to feed them, I broke off a piece of my chapatti, led them outside, and split it in two, lying the pieces on the ground. Again they wagged their tails, and again they looked at me expectantly, but the plain bread went untouched. I couldn’t coax them to eat it.
Last night, I passed the bakery. I almost walked by, and then I stopped, backed up, and went in. I bought two pieces of honey butter cake. I found the puppies and their mom carousing on the side of the road, tumbling over each other and growling playfully. I made some clucking noises at them and knelt down. They were instantly at attention, their ears standing straight up, their butts wiggling on the ground. As I started to break the cake apart, they began crawling all over each other to get to the first piece, and then proceeded to partake in an orgy of honey butter cake bliss, as I broke off one huge chunk after another.
I will never again be so gauche as to offer them plain brown bread. They are clearly dogs of refined taste, and they only accept the best. For these fat, wiggling puppies, the only acceptable nourishment is cake.