Pie memories
Homemade pie is the stuff of legend.
In November 2004, fate found my father-in-law, Ron Millican, cutting a pecan pie recipe from a local paper that would come to define a member or our family who had only just turned 1.
“Pecan Pie to Die For!” read the headline out of what we can only guess was The Capitol Hill Beacon.
When Ron once again made that pie for Lori and me back in 2010, we got a lesson in the veracity of that headline. I wrote about the occasion when our beagle, Penny, sniffed her way to the precipice of an untouched pecan pie on the counter — with Mom and Dad out for a drive.
In those days, Penny’s worldclass sniffer couldn’t resist the scent of any food, no matter its state of decay. So a pristine pecan pie only hours removed from the oven was an easy find.
Her parents were smart enough to keep the pie far enough from the edge of the counter to keep it out of her striking range. But they weren’t smart enough to notice the edge of the dish towel it sat upon was.
When we returned home, we found the towel strung haphazardly on the floor between the dishwasher and the island, the pie tin lying next to — licked clean and ready for more.
Penny the Pilferer waited at the back door, tail tucked and ready to endure whatever price five minutes alone with a pecan pie would cost.
We said farewell to Penny in September, a couple months before her 14th birthday. Perhaps that pecan pie shaved a year or two off the back side of her tour of this world, but I have no doubt given the option to repeat the feat Penny would’ve literally pounced on it.
The old girl loved to eat, and we will forever celebrate her time with us with each forkful of pecan pie.
Penny never got a whole pumpkin pie, but I’m sure she caught enough scent of it to wish she had. Here’s hoping the Hereafter for Hounds has a pie parlor just for beagles as sweet as they are stinky. Penny will have a slice of pumpkin, but a whole pecan.