Two Against One

   Yesterday for breakfast I gave Clara a piece of Hawaiian sweet bread with butter, torn into small pieces.  I turned from pouring myself some water to see her flick a piece of the buttered bread off her tray and into Wilbur's eager jaws.
    "Clara! You know we don't feed Wilbur people food! People food is not good for Wilbur!  It puts an ouchy in his stomach!"
    A flash of defiance crossed her face.  She quickly flicked another piece of bread at Wilbur.
    "Hey!" I said.
    "Ha-ha!" she laughed triumphantly, sticking out her legs and flexing her little pink toes.  She flicked the third and final piece at Wilbur.
     "Do you want to sit in time-out?" I said.
     "Hes," she replied cheerfully, nodding her head.  I sighed inwardly and unlatched her from her booster seat.  She arranged herself in the time-out corner and, understanding that time-out was about punishment, gave me her very best fake cry.  A big, square-mouthed yowl, with squinted eyes.  She stopped mid-cry because she saw Wilbur in the kitchen, licking the floor under her booster seat.
    "Dog," she said, pointing, and then threw her head back and fake-cried again with gusto, watching Wilbur out of the corner of her eye all the while.
     She sat in time-out twice more yesterday, once for giving Wilbur prunes and--more egregiously--for giving Wilbur a whole chunk of salmon at dinnertime.
     After the salmon time-out, Simon came from the kitchen, where he had been finishing up the dishes.
     "Clara, do you know why you were sitting in time-out?" he said.  "We can't give Wilbur people food. It's yucky for him."  Then he said, "Do you want a hug?" Of course she did.
    A few minutes later, Simon devised a game where he "cymbal-ed" her between two couch pillows.  I caught a glimpse of her, sweaty and shrieking, wearing only the red bloomers that went with her dress, thundering across the living room floor.
     Today Clara didn't give Wilbur any food until dinnertime.  Then she gave him all the peas and corn from her booster tray while I was rummaging in the refrigerator for some cheese.
     We sat together in time-out briefly and she cried remorsefully.  When I put her back in her booster seat, she pointed at Wilbur and sternly said,
     "Mommy!  No, no, dog!"
     "That's right.  No people food for Wilbur."
     But five minutes later I caught her holding out her yogurt-covered spoon for Wilbur to lick clean, giggling wildly. This time I sighed out loud.  Deeply.
      "Wilbur, come here," I said.  I took him by the collar and put him out in the garage, locking his dog door from the inside.
     "Ilbur?" Clara asked, pointing at the door.
     Wilbur was in time-out.