Happy Valentine's Day, Sugar!

You didn't get flowers. I did. You didn't get chocolate; it's poisonous for dogs. Poor dogs, I feel for you. But you did get diced-up leftover tandoori chicken. I believe that on your canine palate, tandoori chicken was as good as any chocolate truffle. If it wasn't, you put on a good show for me, sweet compassionate little beast.

And another treat! For Valentine's Day I made an appointment for your first session at the groomer's, next Friday. I know you're going to thank me for that. All those razors and scissors, hoses, sudsy water, brushes and combs, ear swabs, tear stain solution. But think of how you'll look. Poodles are aristocratic dogs, and I'm told they feel unsettled if their appearance is neglected. Well, many women, especially on Valentine's Day, support your sensitivity on that issue, Sugar. So consider yourself lucky; think of it as a spa day.

Now on to you, dear reader. Am I wrong to suspect you're still wondering about the tandoori chicken? You wonder whether we're Indian, possibly "B'nai Menashe," one of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, lost to history until some weeks or months ago when located in Northern India. The one the new science of genetics very recently discovered languishing in the Far East (still genetically Jewish, but tandoori-loving and chopped liver-disdaining) and flown en masse back to the Homeland. But no, we're not that exotic. Indian food is as close as we've ever been to India, and now that cuisine has an additional significance in modern life, also tending towards the spiritual, as you shall soon understand.

This past weekend Sugar had an excellent adventure. For one thing, she met her first human child, a little two-year-old named Lucia. Lucia was here as a guest, the daughter of old childhood friends of my son Matt's. Matt was in NY on business, so they decided to rendezvous at his boyhood home, now chez Sugar, for an overnight visit.

I hadn't seen these young people in years. Who knew how they lived, what they ate? Matt couldn't give me much prior information. These days eating is itself a sort of religion. One has to be careful of what one puts on the table in order not to offend. It's a very PC world. People do get offended. In the olden days, if, as guests, we were not to eat something, we merely pushed the offending food around the plate. But we never said anything. So I decided to order in.

Indian food is safe. If guests are vegetarian or vegan, there's always something for them to eat. Lots of rice and lentils if all else is verboten. And tandoori chicken for the unenlightened. It goes without saying that pork will not be on the menu. In the end they turned out to be locavores. If you don't know what that means, contact me privately.

The friends arrived first. Lucia and Sugar circled each other for a few minutes, then wrestled over toys for half an hour or so. I offered cheese and crackers. At last the man of the hour trod across the threshold. My son Matt.

When Sugar beheld the face of her brother, it was electrifying. Her eyes went momentarily dim. Much like the reunion of Jacob and Esau; such fierce passion. She lost all reason. She skidded about on the tiles then jumped into his arms and planted a wet Valentine on his lips, a couple in his ears  and made multiple forays up his nostrils. He didn't even have to be introduced for her to go to work on him. No. Blood knows blood. They were soldered together from the first moment to the last, with only the brief interlude of a mid-Saturday afternoon nap draped round hubby's neck.

When Matt departed, backpack slung on his shoulder, carry-on luggage dragged down the driveway, Sugar gazed after him, leaving a steamy smear on the glass door. How to console her? How help her forget?

Tandoori chicken, canine cure-all to the rescue. Better than roses. Anyway, roses are poisonous to dogs. So many different diets. Happy Valentine's Day. Safest to give a card. Though that can also be eaten. And can be poisonous...