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A Meal to Remember

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I watched her from my rug in the kitchen—as I always do.

First she cut the lamb. An entire leg she carved, just out of reach on the countertop. Juices ran onto a cutting board. She did not discard the fat.

Great hunks of meat she then placed on our grill. Would she eat this without me? For a moment, I actually wondered. In minutes, the sizzle and smell were almost enough to sate me. But there she did not stop.

Carrots in water came to a rolling boil. She tested them. Are they done, momma? Not too hot, please. And rice. Not just any rice—brown rice for me.

Today she made me a meal to remember. All of this she laid before me.  I watched her place my bowl on the floor. As she bent down she kissed my forehead. “I love you pup,” she told me, as she always does.

I know, momma. To the ends of the earth, I love you too.

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