Pepper was enjoying a marvelous nap in the kitchen one recent afternoon while I caught up on Facebook. Correction: I thought Pepper was napping.

After my third trip to the freezer in as many minutes, she sat right up in her bed.

“Do you plan on eating that third ice cream sandwich?” she inquired.

“Oh gosh!” I stuttered. “Have I already eaten two? They’re really small, you know – I hadn’t actually planned on eating three but I hardly even noticed the first two – ” (All this being said while I quickly polished off the third.) 

“Slow down, cowgirl,” she interrupted. “Ice cream sandwiches are one of the best things humans ever invented. I’m all in favor of three in a row!”

“You are?” I asked. “I thought you were ice cream shaming me.”

“Never,” said Pep. “Today is a 3-ice-cream-sandwich kind of day.”

“Oh,” I said, a bit confused. “I’m so glad! I suppose it felt like that to me too! But – how will I know when it’s not a 3-ice-cream-sandwich kind of day?”   

“Oh – those are all the rest of the days,” she stated firmly. “They are all 1-ice-cream-sandwich days. For your health.”

While I considered, she trotted over to the living room to retrieve the bone she had hidden between the cushions in the nicest sofa. “Next time, I’ll take care of the second and third ice cream sandwiches,” she suggested.

*      *      *

Pep watches the storm approach as I enjoy Frederik Backman’s Beartown, a hockey saga currently being read by my couples’ book club (and me)

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