Wild Dingo

Juno has…well…an unnatural obsession with raisin toast. So much so, she’ll go against her own deeply-held values and belief systems in order to obtain just one square inch of the mouth-watering delight. Given the choice between raisin toast and a juicy tri-tip steak, it wouldn’t shock anyone at Wild Dingo to see her choose the raisin toast. It’s her crack, her juice, her happy dust that she’ll pimp herself for.  

“I’ll take this loaf lightly toasted with a thick–no make that thin, because I’m on a diet–layer of butter.”

I’m not much of a raisin toast eater myself so recently, while Mr. Wild Dingo was out of town on a business trip, Juno had busied herself formulating a hypothesis, running experiments and plotting data. Here is what she discovered:

Now Mr. Wild Dingo, for reasons that only Juno is privy to, is not one of Juno’s favorite bi-peds. And though things are improving between the two, she still resorts to some of her favorite habits of running away from him. And yet her sullen, depressed behavior miraculously lifts and a ray of sunlight shines over her head when Mr. Wild Dingo butters the raisin toast. 

This is where Juno’s deeply held convictions of Mr. Wild Dingo’s unending quest to steel her gumdrop nose are tossed out the window. Her paranoia vanishes and she becomes so bold to leave the safety of  my side or her fortress of solitude (any place in the house that has 2 corners for her to slink into) to go to him, nay, throw herself at him, as if she’s his long lost soul mate when he’s holding the coveted treasure. She’ll shake her booty, wiggle her Jodhpur thighs and will even go so far as to kiss him on the cheek, pimping for raisin toast.

And so it seems their relationship has matured and is growing into a wonderful cooperative working partnership:

“Juno, heel.”
“Dude, whatever. I’m only in it for the raisin toast.”