But Where Do Pepperoni Come From?

Over the years, I've discovered quite a few odd things in my backyard including:

• half eaten peaches that the squirrels steal from the peach tree growing in the yard next door
• hammocks
• bunnies

But none have compared to the strange (and wonderful) thing I found on Monday morning.

It was a standard Monday morning.  Bright and early I woke up, stepped on Sister as I climbed off the bed, scurried downstairs, and demanded that I be let out to check the perimeters.  Into the backyard I galloped and joyfully jumped over the mountain of snow Ma and Pa have been building me from the weekly seven inches of snow that keeps blanketing our driveway.  Having stuck the landing (a perfect 10.0 if you ask me), I came to a complete halt in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath of morning air.

It was then that I smelled it; a wonderfully delicious smell wafting from the little Christmas tree in the corner of the yard.  Ever inquisitive (and always looking for a free meal), I scurried over to the tree, my nose high in the air, and determined that the smell was definitely coming from the top of the tree--a tree that, despite being short, was still taller than me.  I weighed my options and decided that, if I couldn't reach the top of the tree from where I stood, I would climb it instead.  There was just one problem...the branches would not support my weight.  Undaunted, I considered my options once again and came up with a plan B:  bark hysterically until someone comes to help.

Seconds later, I heard, a banging on the window and saw Pa motioning for me to stop barking and come in.  Seeing that it was breakfast time, I acquiesced and hurried in.

About an hour later, I was let outside again.  Immediately, I hot-footed it to the little Christmas tree and re-evaluated the situation.  I decided that, if I couldn't climb to the top, I'd rear up on my hind legs and investigate from a standing position (hey, it works for the humans).  Slowly, I rose off my front legs and--BANG--I hit my head on a low-hanging branch from the cherry tree growing a few feet away.

I was busy counting the little bunnies and stars that were circling around my head when I suddenly became aware of the familiar sound of laughter and discovered Ma and Pa standing in the window guffawing at my expense; they had seen the whole thing.  Annoyed, I decided to return to plan B and started barking hysterically until Pa enticed me back inside the house with the promise of a cookie.

A couple of hours later, after breakfast, Ma went out to investigate what was bothering me.  Cautiously, she approached the tree and discovered, right there on the top branches, was a half a slice of pizza (and here I was under the impression that pizzas came from some rude person who banged on our door ever Friday night but never stopped to say hello to me).

Despite making the initial find, Ma refused to share the pizza crop with me.  In fact, she had the gall of throwing the slice away without so much as a taste.  Still, now that I know where pizzas come from and that I have my very own pizza tree growing in my back yard, I know that, if I check every day, someday a new crop will grow and I'll be there to sample it.