Sanity Check: Raining Eggs

Clean life has mom dog-tired

By Sharon Short

A few days after we got our new dog, I laid down the law: a never-before-experienced, super-sanitized cleanliness shall reign upon our household!

This was because I discovered that when a beagle shakes himself, fur goes flying everywhere. Including onto the table and countertop.

So, I called everyone together and proclaimed: We shall clean and sanitize the kitchen countertop and table with disinfectant before cooking/dining!

We shall have color coded sponges—the pink one for cleaning the cat/dog food bowls, the blue one for cleaning countertop/table... and of course the sponges shall be sanitized in hot water after each use!

And we shall teach the dog the all-important commands—Down! and Sit!—so that said dog shall refrain from begging in the kitchen or at the table!

After I proclaimed these quite reasonable commandments, several things happened.

The kids and husband gave each other long, knowing looks.

The cats snickered.

The dog hid.

Still, I persevered.

And made it through an entire day, following my own rules. Then, as I stood in my kitchen, proudly surveying its sparkling clean, super-sanitized floor and countertop and sink, my 11-year-old daughter came in and said, "Mom, weren't we supposed to make deviled eggs for the church potluck tomorrow?"

As we boiled eggs, the dog came into the kitchen. I said, "Sit!" He did, on my super-sanitized floor. Then gave me a look that barked, "Lady, I'm not so sure about living here, you know?"

My daughter and I cut the boiled eggs in half (on our super-sanitized cutting block), and put the yolks in a small (super-sanitized) measuring cup.

My daughter started mashing (with a super-sanitized fork) mayo and mustard and seasonings into the egg yolks. The dog, licking his lips, stood on his hind legs. "Down!" I said. So, he lay down and heaved a weary, bedeviled sigh.

And for the first time that day, I could empathize with the dog. After all my cleaning and sanitizing, I was weary, too.

So I said to my daughter, with years-of-cooking wisdom, "Dearie, let your smart, ol' mama show you a little short-cut!"

I got out the mixer and put just one beater in the small measuring cup that held the egg yolk/mayo/mustard.

The dog stood again.

And I took my hand from the measuring cup handle to point at him and say, "Sit!"... just as I turned on the mixer... thus turning the little measuring cup into a madly spinning Tasmanian devil that wildly flung egg yolk everywhere—on the floor, the counter, the ceiling, my daughter, me, the dog...

Desperately, I yelled at the mixer: "Down! Sit!"

It didn't heed my plea, and neither did the dog, who happily jumped up and down in a little dog dance, while yipping a little dog song: Hurrah! Hurrah! At last, cleanliness is not reigning! But deviled eggs are—raining, that is! Doggy manna from heaven!

My daughter unplugged the mixer.

I picked up the blue super-sanitized sponge.

And the dog eyed me with a look that woofed, "hey, maybe you're OK after all!" then started licking up deviled egg yolks from the floor.

I'm so glad I sanitized it for him.