Story over a cup Episode III: Revenge of the Dish

Published 12:38 pm Saturday, September 7, 2019

Michael Cole


In a stunning move, I tried to wash the dishes in the sink. There is suds everywhere.

In a stunning move, a dish slides out of my hands, holding the peace in the house forever shattered …







With the laundry finished and the boys somewhat placated, I turned to the rest of the housework that needed to be done.

I had put off the dishes long enough. 

It was their time.

So it began.

Usually, I don’t really mind doing dishes. But, maybe it was all the problems from the laundry and the boys reacting to the washer. Maybe it was cleaning the fuzzball remains of the dog chew toys 

Maybe it was simply because it was a day that ended with the letter “y.”

But it was a dreaded chore today. I could think of a million things I would rather do 

It was then, I heard the voice of my wife:

“Comfort? Ease? A Jedi craves not these things “

I don’t know why my wife was talking like Yoda, but the meaning was clear. 

Do the dishes.

So, with a sponge in hand, I began my ordeal.

Have I ever said how curious Roswell was? Well, he is.

His brothers were off doing whatever they do. 

But with someone at the sink, stove, fridge, or somewhere on Earth, Roswell wanted to butt his nose in and see what was going on.

So, he had his front paws on the counter looking into the sink as dishes were done.

He was mesmerized. Sniffing the suds, looking at the dishes.

I have gotten used to it, in fact, I will actually talk to him and explain what I am doing.

He will look at me as if it is the most important thing he has ever heard.

And that was what I was doing when it attacked.

A Tupperware dish slipped out of my hand. It bounced off of Roswell’s head and landed on the floor.

Roswell got down and started barking at it.

Bernie and Bill came running in the kitchen at light speed.

Bernie slid on a trail of suds left in the wake of the dish. Slid into a cabinet and knocked down more dishes. 

Bill, not taking any chances jumped onto a chair and alternates between barking and wagging his tail.

Meanwhile, Roswell had grabbed the Tupperware dish and runoff.

Once again my wife’s voice echoed in my head…

If they eat one more plastic dish, you are going to be sleeping with them!”

I immediately gave chase to Roswell. Bernie and Bill thought it was a game and chased after me. 

Roswell stopped in the living room, I grabbed the plastic dish, he clamped down and pulled back. The other two also grabbed on.

It became a tug-of-war.

Suddenly, the boys let go and I go back a couple of feet. Dizzy.

I look at the room. Suds on the floor from when it was tracked by three sets of paws, things knocked over. 

Me with a half-chewed plastic dish.

Three angelic-looking dogs.

My wife standing in the hall, glaring at me.

A darkness had descended on the room.


Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination. You can follow him at