How to Become a Dog Bowl

Once upon a time there was a teapot named Mrs. Tea, and she made the savoriest tea, according to Mrs. Crane the head of the household. Her tea was the richest and best in the house.

But one day, while Head Chef Tony was excitedly slicing and dicing potatoes for his famous potato soup, he accidentally knocked Mrs. Tea off the chopping block. She collided with the hard gray stone floor like a child falling off a swing. “SPLAT.” Mrs. Tea cracked!

Mrs. Tea was devastated so she decided to hide in the cabinet. Some of her best friends, Mrs. Salad Bowl, Mr. Ladle, and little Timmy the Peeler, had been deposited in the garbage because of slight imperfections-a scratch, a bent handle, or a dull edge.

Mr. Broiler Pan waited in the back of the cabinet and greeted Mrs. Tea with a sly question, “What are you doing, Mrs. Tea? You are the best teapot in this pantry and the house and possibly the kingdom?” The pan startled Mrs. Tea because he was very old and crusty and rusted and scorched. She had heard myths of Mr. Broiler Pan from her mother, Mrs. Tea Pot, but she always thought that they were just myths. According to the myths, he was only used for big parties when pots and pans were scarce and then he would burn the food and destroy the entire event.

Mrs. Tea tentatively showed him her embarrassing crack, but Mr. Broiler Pan had a quick and immediate response. “Why your crack is not that big. You won’t leak and Mrs. Crane won’t even notice.”

But Mrs. Tea should have known by the quick and too easy of an answer that this was not true. The crack was indeed profound. Mrs. Tea was a trusting pot so she did as Mr. Broiler Pan suggested and pretended it didn’t exist. Mrs. Tea marched out of her hiding spot in the cabinet and placed herself in her appropriate silver tray on the granite counter.

As Mrs. Crane was pouring a cup of sweet cinnamon tea, she observed the slight imperfection. “Oh, my dear. What has happened to you? You have a crack at the very bottom of your pot. Whatever should I do?” pondered Mrs. Crane.

Mrs. Tea knew exactly what Mrs. Crane was to do with her. Or, at least she thought she knew. However, Mrs. Crane gently placed her on the highest shelf inside the finest china cabinet in the grand dining room, a place of great prestige and acclaim because everyone would see her there. “Here you go my dear. Now you can watch over all of my dinner parties and sit like a queen,” Mrs. Crane gently spoke.

Poor old Mr. Broiler Pan remained in the back of the cabinet becoming rustier and crustier, and some years later, it was rumored, that he was used as a dog bowl by Mrs. Crane for her precious Great Dane, Randolph.