Breakfast of Champions

I don't cook breakfast. Around Casa NativeMom if you want breakfast your choices are bagels, cereal, toast, fruit and anything else you can make yourself. There are lots of parents out there who believe it is essential to cook breakfast for their kids and/or loved ones every day. I'm not one of them. And I'm ok with this. But I have to admit, I was a little hurt when my dog decided to have breakfast next door where my neighbor, whom I call "SingleSuperDad," cooks breakfast every morning.

There have been mornings when I've had a very early meeting and SingleSuperDad has been more than happy to take MiniMe to school for me. You see, he has twins (a boy and a girl) who are MiniMe's age and go to her school. So there've been a few times in the last couple of years when I've sent MiniMe next door about 7:15 a.m. so I can get to a 7:30 a.m. meeting. She doesn't mind because SingleSuperDad serves up pancakes, bacon, omelets, and all sorts of other home-cooked breakfast goodies.

MiniMe spent Friday night next door where SingleSuperDad was having not just my daughter as a guest, but a house full of neices and nephews, too. Did I mention I love this neighborhood because of all the kids and families who live here? On our street alone are two girls about MiniMe's age and they regularly run in and out of our homes giggling, playing, and angling for a sleepover. Whichever house the girls happen to end up in each evening is where they eat dinner. It's the stuff idyllic childhoods are made of.

But back to my story. Saturday morning, MiniMe and her friends can be heard giggling and playing in the backyard of SingleSuperDad. So it was no big surprise when I let the dogs out that morning for a pee, that Scout didn't come back right away. But half an hour later, Beloved and I have both been out several times calling for the mangy mutt to no avail. By about 9:30 a.m., I hear the patter of little feet and here comes MiniMe charging into the kitchen followed by neighbor girl, her cousin and my wayward dog, Scout.

"Where's he been, we've been calling and calling for him," I ask MiniMe as she whirls past me.

"Scout? He's been with us over at Mr. SingleSuperDad's house," she says, "he even had breakfast with us."

Seems Scout followed the sound of happy kids to the backyard next door then just trotted his carefree dogass inside with the children when SingleSuperDad called them in for breakfast. Not only was SingleSuperDad nonplussed at the site of my dog in his kitchen, he even made Scout an omelet and some bacon. Quite frankly, I'm surprised the dog came back at all.