We wandered down south for spring break to visit some family. While there, LittleLordFauntleroy’s routine went like this:
1) wake up
2) chase dog
3) eat breakfast/attempt to feed breakfast to dog
4) play at the beach until nap time
5) go home and try to feed part of pre-nap snack to dog
We did this every day for a week, and he loved it. We left on a Saturday. As you may know, the day after Saturday is Sunday. Therefore the routine went like this:
1) wake up
2) look for dog to chase, fail to discover one
3) eat breakfast/throw some on floor to see if dog appears
4) go to church until nap time
While this programme did not meet with such universal approval as the previous week’s, it was going fairly smoothly. LLF is a sunny-natured child and doesn’t hold a grudge. But the universe must like continuity, because as we were resuming our pew after Communion, we suddenly realized there was a small, white, fluffy dog in the pew behind us.
I have no idea what possessed these people to bring their dog to church (the devil?), but in a sudden burst of clarity, the previous week’s routine brought home to me exactly what was about to happen. LLF squealed happily: “GOG!” just as I hissed wildly at B: Do Not let LLF feed the Host to the Dog!!! B, fortunately, has good reflexes. He too remembered LLF’s activities for the last week. Quick as a flash, he snatched the rest of the Communion wafer from LLF’s fat little hand and ate it. So I am happy to report, we did not add: “5) try to feed Body and Blood of Christ to dog” to our list of activities. Crisis averted.