Due to popular demand, here is the story of Smoky and Penny and the Sunday roast. Penny was a little mutt we had, chihuahua-pekinese-cocker-lordknowswhat. Smoky was a Russian Blue tom who was tossed out of a moving car ahead of me on the way home one day. If we had acquired him later in life, we would have called him either Mr. T or B.A. Anyway, back to the story: One Sunday I made a nice cross rib beef roast (when a cross rib was a nice chunk of meat with some short rib bones attached – yumm). My mother called me outside to look at something. We heard a crash and rushed back in. Surprise, surprise!! No more roast!! Smoky had knocked it off the counter, Penny had run off with it, and they were behind the couch enjoying the feast. Mother, being practical, fished out the roast, rinsed it off with jot water, and we sat back down and ate our dinner.
Due to popular demand, here is the story of Smoky and Penny and the Sunday roast. Penny was a little mutt we had, chihuahua-pekinese-cocker-lordknowswhat. Smoky was a Russian Blue tom who was tossed out of a moving car ahead of me on the way home one day. If we had acquired him later in life, we would have called him either Mr. T or B.A. Anyway, back to the story: One Sunday I made a nice cross rib beef roast (when a cross rib was a nice chunk of meat with some short rib bones attached – yumm). My mother called me outside to look at something. We heard a crash and rushed back in. Surprise, surprise!! No more roast!! Smoky had knocked it off the counter, Penny had run off with it, and they were behind the couch enjoying the feast. Mother, being practical, fished out the roast, rinsed it off with jot water, and we sat back down and ate our dinner.