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I told you yesterday that mom was going to bake a pineapple upside cake, and she did. I also told you that I would like it, and I half-liked it.

Mom let me lick the bowl, and it was good; so, I figured I would like the baked version as well. I was wrong. I liked the cake part, but I really did not like the pineapple part. I thought that I would like all fruit, but, again, I was wrong.

I like grapes, but mom won’t let me have ‘em anymore; she says they’re bad for me. I believe her. I like apples, and I get to have some once in a while. I like peaches but not the kind in a can. I like pears, too, but not in a can. I guess I am a fresh-fruit kind of person. Maybe I would like pineapple if it were fresh, but not cooked I can assure you.

I think mom is going to bake something again today; she just turned on the oven. I sure hope I like it. Hey, I’m sure I will.

I am lying right here on the floor watching everything she does. She tells me it is going to be something called a pineapple upside cake. Only if it’s upside down, how is she going to bake it? More to the point, how is anyone going to eat it? That doesn’t make any sense to me; maybe it does to you.

If I am real good, mom is going to let me lick the bowl when she’s through. Right away, I’ll be able to tell if I am going to like it or not. When I think about it, there has never been anything mom has given me that I didn’t like. She knows everything I like, but there are things I eat that she doesn’t. Milk bones are one thing I really like, but mom says they are just for us furry ones; that’s why she doesn’t eat any. I would share with her like she shares with me if she would just let me. I’ve tried before, but she tells me “Baby girl, this is just for you.” She loves me.