My Daddy makes pancakes on Sundays. I love pancake day because they smell so wonderful in the kitchen. I don’t know what patience is, but Daddy tells me that it means waiting and not getting upset about waiting. I don’t get it.
Daddy makes sure that pancakes are out as fast as he can because he knows that I don’t like hungry and hungry doesn’t like me. He is quick like my doggie Mr. Django when he is running for a treat in the kitchen, and he goes all over the place in order to make food happen.
Daddy always gets my pancakes out first, and he even makes little pancakes just the size of my hands for me so that I can hold them and get pieces with my four little teeth that Daddy tells me looks like a beaver. They sometimes even have shapes in them, and today they had Little D’s because that is what they call me… little D. I eat and eat and eat until my little belly sticks out, and they give me fuel to play for a long time.
Sometimes little things can show love, and my Daddy’s little pancakes are full of love and love and love for me. Thanks for being our food hero, Daddy.