Dinner for Breakfast

Children are strange creatures. I think that some of them belong in zoos. For example, my eight year old brother Hyrum.

Tonight, as I prepared myself for a good night's rest, my dad asked me if I would help Hyrum feed and lock up the dogs for the night. It's not that big a deal. We go outside, fill the dog bowls with food, and let our fantastic canines chow. Then we lock them up in a nice shed where we won't be able to hear them bark during the early hours.

My younger brother, Stephen, usually takes care of the dogs. Wondering how much work I would have to do, I turned to Hyrum.

"Have the dogs had dinner yet?" I asked.

"They usually have it in the morning," Hyrum said.

Those of us gathered in the living room laughed. I thought he had misunderstood.

"They usually have breakfast in the morning," I said. "Not dinner. So, have they eaten tonight?"

Hyrum wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Stephen feeds them in the morning."

"He also feeds them at nighttime," my mom said.

"But we feed them in the morning!"

It took me five minutes to explain in what I thought was a clear manner that dogs, like humans, must have dinner. He finally seemed to understand. He went quiet. We trudged through the snow to the corral (where we keep the dogs penned so that the neighbors don't shoot them (as they have done in the past)).

Digger and Ginger jumped up against the frozen door that led into the pen, wagging their tails and panting with excitement. Hyrum smiled, hopped over the fence, and patted the smallest dog, Digger, on the head.

"Come on, boy," he said, walking toward the lock-up area. Digger started to follow, and I have no doubt that without me Hyrum would have locked him up. Without dinner.

"No!" I said. "We. Have. To. Feed. Them. Dinner."

Hyrum looked at me blankly. Then he focused and seemed to think for the first time. "Oh."

We walked to the dogs' eating area. Ginger and Digger followed eagerly, sometimes bounding ahead and then back. In a few moments, we had their dog bowls full of that nasty stuff they eat.

Hyrum and I meandered back home without saying much. I am confident that he now understands the fact that dogs need dinner. Had he paused to think about it, I'm sure he would have understood right off the bat.

My eight year old brother is smart. He builds things, draws things, and plays fantastically creative games. But sometimes he forgets to use his brain. Sometimes he is a master of obfuscation.