It was the Arsenic Hour, the fatal span in the evening when households with children can turn into boiling cauldrons. With the sound turned off — for fun, let’s press the mute button– it is true that the kitchen scene would not have seemed particularly deadly.
One child was painstakingly ladling soft, thawed raspberries into a container for lunch the next day. Two other children had spread textbooks and notebooks across the kitchen counter, and had their heads bent over their homework. They could be seen exchanging remarks, unsmilingly.
A pair of teenagers came through with huge packs on their backs, looking like infantry radio operators headed for the high ground of their own rooms.
In a large wire enclosure at one end of the kitchen counter, meanwhile, a fast-growing puppy was observing operations. It turned to watch the teenagers going up the stairs. Its mouth opened and closed regularly, with a kind of biting motion.
Remember, the sound is still off.
During all this, the family cook was putting supper together. From the speed and economy of her movements, you might have thought her a picture of serene efficiency, a domestic goddess in motion.
A close study of her face, which seemed to flinch in time with the dog’s moving jaws, gave, however, a truer picture. In fact, she was in a state of extreme irritation: Because of an after-school vet appointment, everything had been pushed back. The meal was going to be horribly late, the homework wasn’t done yet, the entire family was cranky and famished, and if people didn’t stop squabbling and that wretched thing didn’t shut up — well, she didn’t know who or what she might end up cooking!
Who or what might she end up cooking? Let’s turn the sound back on to find out.
BARK, BARK, BARK! (Yes, that.)
“I’m taking the dog out at seven,” one homework-doing child was saying angrily to the other. (And that.)
“No, I’m taking him out,” said the other, just as angry. (And that.)
BARK, BARK, BARK!
“What are we having for dinner?” one of the teenagers called from the stairs.
“You can both take him out,” the cook said to the girls, and “Pasta!” to the boy on the stairs.
“No, it’s my turn,” said the first child.
“Don’t say ‘no’ to me, Missie,” said the cook.
BARK, BARK, BARK!
“Anyway, it’s my turn,” persisted the second child.
“WHAT KIND OF SAUCE ON THE PASTA?”
“IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME, DON’T YELL, PLEASE COME TO WHERE I AM!”
“Mummy, you’re yelling.”
“I AM not.”
BARK, BARK, BARK!
Splash.
“Oh no, the raspberries went all over the floor –”
BARK, BARK, BARK!
Wouldn’t it be lovely if there really were a mute button, just for times like this. Instead of noise, there might be silence. Perhaps, as with a silent film, you could have a soundtrack, with captions: “Bark!” Perhaps, as with the lauded new silent film, “The Artist,” you could have not only big band music but also an incredibly obliging, non-barking dog Uggie.
I know, I know. But a person can dream, can’t she?
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at [email protected].
