Irony

Matt found the perfect birthday present for his dad.

Now first I should explain that my father-in-law is one of the most difficult people to shop for. He's not a materialistic person to begin with, but he has very specific tastes and likes nice things, meaningful things.

That's why Matt is always in charge of buying for his dad. I'd never be able to get it right.

So when we stopped at an antique mall in the States on one of our visits, Matt came across two antique books published in the late 1800s. Their covers had an intricate design and texture, the way old books do, and the pages were in virtually perfect condition. The books were just the right sort of old, the pages having just the right amount of fading, the book having just the right amount of weight to it. They were perfect.

So, those two books traveled all the way from Virginia back to Bermuda, where they awaited the day they would be gift-wrapped and given to Matt's dad.

Matt carefully unpacked the books, again looking them over and knowing he'd gotten something good, something appropriate, and something his dad would appreciate.

He set the books on the coffee table and went to work. All was right with the world at that point.

Then he came home.


After unpacking the suitcase, Matt had left it sitting next to the coffee table on the floor. He was going to put all the cases back into the closet later that night, after the others were unpacked.

He never would've thought that the suitcase on the floor next to the coffee table was exactly the right height and exactly the right width for a little dog to use as a makeshift step up to the table.

Apparently the covers of old books smell like food.

When Matt got home from work, our little Shih Tzu Molly was standing on top of the coffee table, tail wagging and tongue panting, her usual welcome. And beside her was the 140-year old book with the cover largely chewed off.

I don't know what they made the covers of books from back then. I don't know if the leather smells like bacon or if the binding smells like hamburgers, but I do know it smells delicious to a small, extremely naughty dog.

When Matt relayed the story to me (the kids and I were still in Virginia when it happened), all he could say was that whoever published that book would have never in a million years imagined the fate it would eventually suffer. It lasted 140 years through wars and generations and moves and probably lots of handling, then traveled across the ocean to a little island where it was eaten by a tiny dog.