âAnd so friendly!â she gushes, giving Judyâs haunches a good rub.
âSarah, this is Helen Minter!â Dr. Fred exclaims, as if Helen Minter is a movie star or a politician. Someone I should know.
Helen smiles broadly and extends a right hand worthy of a lotion commercial: perfectly soft skin, long fingers and shiny unchipped polish on manicured nails that probably cost her over a hundred bucks a month to maintain.
I glance down at my own right hand, at the worthy-of-a-horror-movie chapped skin and chewed-down nails covered in grayish brown biscuit batter. I quickly rinse my hands under the tap, wipe them dry on my shorts and extend one to Helen.
Dr. Fred is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, trembling like a puppy, so excited I wonder if heâs going to pee right there on the kitchen floor.
âHelen is an old friend of mine, Sarah,â he says. âWe went to high school together up in Cornwall. She lives in Toronto now, but sheâs been spending a few weeks with friends upriver, at Wolfe Island. They brought their boatâ and their dogsâdown to check out the fun today.â
âIâm a
huge
dog lover,â Helen gushes. âI have two Jack Russells and a cockerââ
âUh, excuse me,â I interrupt, sniffing the air. The peanut butter bones will start burning in exactly ten seconds. I grab an oven mitt off the counter, stick my hand in the oven, extract the tray of dog cookies, set it on top of the counter, grab a fresh tray of unbaked biscuits,shove it into the oven and slam the door shut. All in one fluid movement, like my own private culinary ballet.
I look up and Dr. Fred and Helen are still there, smiling at me benevolently.
âHelenâs a holistic pet-food manufacturer, Sarah,â Dr. Fred says. âTricks for Treats, Inc.â
âHow would you like to have your dog biscuits mass-produced and marketed all over Ontario?â Helen asks.
Is she talking to me?
Several strands of hair have fallen out of my ponytail into my eyes. I peer at Helen through them. The woman canât be serious.
Except she is. âLet me explain. Dr. Fred tells me you are quite the chef. More importantly, he was telling me how youâve been experimenting with dog biscuit recipes. My own dogs are out there gorging on your creations as we speak. And, well...â She leans toward me and whispers, âThey looked so tasty I even nibbled on a few myself.â
So thatâs why the biscuits disappeared so fast. The humans were eating them. âYou want to buy my recipes?â I ask.
Helen nods. âDr. Fred would be willing to endorse the final product, of course. He tells me youâve been reading up on pet nutrition in your spare time and clearing all your ingredients with him before you bake. Itâs essential that you donât use food items that would jeopardize the dogsâ health.â
I nod. âLike chocolate and onions.â
Helen continues. âWhat Iâm especially taken with is your presentation. Itâs quite clever, Sarah, using cookiecutters to make festive shapes, cornmeal sprinkles for texture and veggie puree for color.â
âThe dogs donât really care about all that,â I admit, waving a stray fly away from the tray of dog biscuits cooling on the counter.
âNo,â Helen agrees, âbut their owners do. Think about all those companies that sell designer dog coats. They make a killing. Dogs donât give a hoot if their cold-weather gear is blue or red, or made of wool or denim, as long as it keeps them warm. But the dog
owners
buy the coats, not the dogs.â
âYou have to market to the owners,â Dr. Fred pipes up.
âAnd owners like shapes and sprinkles and colors,â I say, catching on.
âExactly!â Helen gushes. âSo how about it, Sarah?â
âI...wow...â I feel like Iâm standing on a rising loaf of bread.
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