An Evening At The Greyhound Racetracks

Will and I really hate wasting food. We find it disrespectful. It’s not that we actually think that we can send it to the less fortunate. It’s just out of a graceful respect for those who don’t have enough, for where the food came from, what gave its life for us to be nourished from it, who grew it and took care of it and transported it to market and who sold it. The revere of food and cooking in our home is like a meditation. Not all of the time, mind you...but we try. I feel as though we’re paying homage to the earth by paying honor to our food.

Of course, this is nothing new. It’s called “Saying Grace” before a meal – same thing.

Well recently, Will said to me, “Do you remember that really sweet greyhound that I used to have, the one that I rescued from the shelter when I was living in the city? Well, did I ever tell you about the time that I had a full plate of refried beans that I didn’t want to throw out, so I fed it all to the dog and then I went out for the evening?”

***Clarification to the ending of the story***
When Will arrived home later that night, there was more than just explosive farts all over the house...