Elvis on Cooking

Elvis has asked if he can write a post in this blog.  I said okay.  Here it is.  He wrote it while I was cooking lunch:

My mom is cooking again!  Hooray!  I love when she cooks because sometimes she drops stuff of the ground and then I get to eat it.  YUM!

Today she is cooking...hmmm...something meaty smelling.  I LOVE MEAT.  I will sit here next to where she is standing by the stove and put on my cutest face, where I open my eyes real wide and tip my head just a little bit.  Maybe she will share her food.

She's looking at me, but she's not giving me any meat.  Why isn't my cute face working?  I add a small whimper for effect to say, "Look at me, I'm sooooo hungry."  Mom claims that I can't be that hungry, as I've just eaten dog food.  I say that you don't have to be that hungry to want some meat.  I'm full of dog food, but I'm starving for meat!

She's still mixing the beefy stuff in one skillet, but wait!  She's doing something else!  She's taking a pot of water over to the sink....  I follow, obviously.  She drains the water and takes something out of the pot.  She starts chopping it on her chopping board.  I get a good whiff of what it is...

POTATOES!  I FREAKING LOVE POTATOES!  I must have some.

I try the cute face again, but to no avail.  Mom claims that last time she let me have people food I puked, so she's not going to share any more.  That is so unfair!  I did not puke because of the food she gave me; I puked because of the bug I ate while we were on a walk.  She doesn't believe me, though, so I need to resort to another method of securing potatoes.

I muster up some energy and try to jump up onto the counter.  Unfortunately, I'm too short.  When I jump as high as I can, I can barely get my face over the counter for half a second before I fall back down to the ground again.  I start jumping in rapid succession, thinking that maybe if I jump multiple times I will be able to get higher and higher.  Every time my face goes over the counter, I see the potatoes!  My ultimate prize!  Here is my thought process:

(jump)
HOORAY!  POTATOES!
(fall)
Crap.  I'm too short.
(jump)
YES!  POTATOES!
(fall)
Blast.  Not quite tall enough.
(jump)
THEY LOOK SO DELICIOUS!
(fall)
Dang.  Missed em again.

My mom is happily chopping away, taking no pity on my potato plight.  Finally I muster all my strength, jump as high as I can, and stick my tongue out at the same time.  When my face is above the plane of the counter, my long tongue finally scrapes one of the potatoes.  What JOY!  What HAPPINESS!  The taste of potato is in my mouth.  I must have more.  I brace myself to jump again but am taken aback by Mom screaming, "Ewwwww!  ELVIS!  You licked that potato!  NASTY!  Now I can't use that one.  That is disgusting.  Here, you can have it."

She throws that chunk of potato on the floor!  HOOOOOORAY!  I gobble it up all too quickly and resume my jumping mission to try to lick another potato so that she will give it to me.  Instead, she locks me in my kennel and isn't letting me help her cook anymore.  Life is unfair.