I'm getting close to writing the end of my fifth book, still untitled. That deserves a reward. At least, that's the excuse I stand by for buying fried chicken fingers at the deli this weekend. I know they're bad for my stubborn cholesterol level, but if I eat cardboard the rest of the day, I should be okay.
In the spirit of healthy eating, I pulled off a large piece of deep-fried coating and offered it to Nikita. This is the dog who thinks horse manure is the ultimate treat, so naturally I expected her to scarf it down and go wiggly with gratitude. She cracked her eyelids, sniffed the offering, then turned and faced the other way.
Crap. I ate something even my dog wouldn't touch. This can't be good.
Nikita, the Siberian husky, roughing it in the air conditioned house: