popcorn reminiscence

Growing up in a family of boys, you learn to hold your own. Granted, I am quite a bit younger than my brothers, but this did not stop me from inheriting the trait of food inhalation. I love popcorn. Whenever I pop a bowl, I always remember my brothers and I being scrunched into the center of the brown couch in the tv room. The big, green bowl of popcorn (doused in salt and butter, if we were lucky), usually being guarded ferociously by the biggest and oldest (never me, by the way). We would glue our eyes to whatever special show we had gathered to watch, our robotic hands moving from bowl to mouth constantly. And we weren't the only ones. Our dog, Heidi, was a three legged, full blood collie. She looked like Lassie...well, except for the whole missing leg thing. She loved popcorn too. She would sit patiently in front of us all, just watching. Never annoying, never whining or begging. We would throw her a piece here and there and she would catch it in mid air. I loved that dog. And I love popcorn. The end.