The magnificent Izzy, my friend and financial shepherd, called last week to ask in an anxious tone if I could see my way to doing him a favor. Since Izzy has pulled my irons out of the fire on a continuous basis since 1998, in one way or another, the answer to this is always yes if at all possible.
Izzy has two Golden Retrievers named Ava and Scarlett (he likes classic movies). You can only tell them apart by the color of their collars; their sophisticated and glamorous names notwithstanding, they are, after all, Golden Retrievers. That is, they munch each other’s heads, galumph about the house like young Shetland ponies, and generally behave like big brainless louts who can’t decide if they are pack predators or preschoolers. They scare the living crap out of me. Izzy worships them. If I did not adore Izzy and Inger as much as I do I would still be running from the last encounter I had with them, discussing my retirement fund white-knuckled in Izzy’s kitchen.
What Izzy needed was freezer space, because he will not allow Ava and Scarlett to eat commercial dog food with its potential taint of chemicals or processing, and weekly concocts for them a homemade variant on the BARF diet.
Strangely enough, I have freezer space, because my Albino Ex, in the paroxysm of guilt that accompanied his decision to kick me to the curb, gave me not only four new tires but a refrigerator, three years old at the time but slated for replacement because he was venturing out on a Brave New Bachelor World and was having his whole condo expensively overhauled. It didn’t fit in my dinky kitchen so I just decided to have a second fridge in the cellar. The freezer section is mostly occupied by a colossal overstock of cold therapy gel packs.
Today Izzy pulled up in my driveway, the hatch of his Subaru laden with cargo retrieved from the nearest Wegman’s, where his inside man had warned him of several cases of frozen stock from Thanksgiving destined to be either pulled or sold. I, a vegetarian, now have seven kosher turkeys in my freezer, because kosher meat is guaranteed crap free, and Izzy, a man who observes the Law and davens devoutly, sees no reason why his dogs should eat treyf.
Only for him would I do this. I swear.