2. Cook the bacon until crispy, using your preferred method. I like to use a skillet, but if you have one of those microwave trays, that would work, too. Drain the bacon, and then chop it or break it into small pieces.
3. Combine the oats, bacon pieces, ham, cheese, and honey in a large bowl and mix thoroughly. (If the mixture isn’t holding together well, you can add a tiny bit more honey.)
4. Scoop the mixture into the liners in the prepared muffin tin, filling each one almost to the top.
5. Bake the muffins for about 20 minutes. You’ll know they’re done when the tops get a little crispy.
6. Make sure to cool the muffins thoroughly before serving them to the dogs, who will probably be eagerly sniffing around you. Nobody likes a burnt tongue!
Makes 12 muffins
Banana-Apple Pupcakes
Have you ever felt guilty about whipping up a stack of pancakes while your dog sits at your feet, drooling hopefully? Because who doesn’t love pancakes? Unfortunately, dogs don’t need extra sugar in their diets and usually get shut out of the feast. This sweet but sugar-free recipe is Socrates’s absolute favorite. He likes the tang the buttermilk adds, but if you don’t have any on hand—and let’s face it, most people probably don’t—just double the amount of regular milk.
Ingredients
2 large eggs
½ cup whole milk
½ cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon honey
1 cup whole-wheat flour
½ cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ cup mashed bananas, plus ½ cup for topping (optional)
½ cup diced apples, plus ½ cup for topping (optional)
Cooking spray, for greasing the griddle
½ cup plain yogurt (optional)
1. Heat up a griddle or a large skillet.
2. Whisk together the eggs, milk, buttermilk, and honey in a medium bowl.
3. Carefully add the whole-wheat flour, the all-purpose flour, and the baking powder to the egg-milk mixture, doing your best not to make a mess.
4. Take a moment to clean up the mess.
5. Fold the bananas and apples into the egg-flour mixture.
6. Spritz your skillet or griddle with the cooking spray. Next, spoon 2 to 3 tablespoons of the batter at a time onto the hot surface, forming pupcakes.1
7. Cook until the tops of your pupcakes get bubbly, and then flip and cook them another 2 minutes or so, being careful not to burn them. When both sides are light golden brown, they’re done.
8. Allow the pupcakes to cool. Then serve them topped with extra diced apples and mashed bananas, if desired. A dollop of yogurt is nice, too.
Makes about 10 pupcakes, depending upon size
PowerPup Breakfast
I’m calling this a breakfast, but it’s great to serve at any meal. It’s full of nutrients. If you have the time or inclination, make the chicken stock yourself. It’s even healthier that way. You can also adjust this recipe to make bigger quantities and freeze portions in plastic bags. It really makes sense. If you’re going to the trouble of cooking chicken, beef, and barley, you might as well make a lot.
Ingredients
2 chicken thighs
1 cup barley
½ pound lean ground beef
2 large carrots, peeled
2 apples, unpeeled
1 small head broccoli
1 cup chopped fresh spinach
One 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
1 cup chicken stock
1. Arrange the chicken in a medium-size pot, and cover with water. Bring the chicken to a boil over medium heat, and then lower the heat and simmer until cooked through, about 25 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pot and set it aside to cool.
2. Meanwhile, in a separate medium-size pot, combine the barley and 3 cups water, and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for approximately 40 minutes, or until the grains are soft but chewy. (Make sure to check the barley as it’s cooking. You may need to add more water if the pot gets dry.) Drain, if necessary, and allow to cool.
3. While the barley is cooking, fry the ground beef in a small pan over medium heat until it is fully cooked and crumbly, about 12 minutes. Drain off any fat and allow the meat to cool.
4. Slice up the carrots, apples, broccoli, and spinach enough to fit in a food processor. Process everything together until the mixture is roughly chopped.
5. Next, take the meat off the bones of the cooled chicken and chop it up. Discard the bones.
6. Mix together the chicken, beef, barley, and veggies in a large bowl. Using a ¼ cup measuring cup, slowly and alternately add the pumpkin and the stock to the chicken mixture, being careful not to make a mush. The mixture should be moist but have texture. You can freeze any extra pumpkin and stock for the next time. The proportions do vary sometimes, based upon things like how well the barley is cooked, how big the apples were, and so on. Use your judgment.
7. Place your dog’s usual portion size of the mixture in a bowl, set that on the floor, and give your favorite pup the go-ahead to dig in. Save any leftovers in the fridge for up to four days or freeze unused portions.
Makes about 8 cups
Sweet Potato Puppy Crunchers and Tuxedo Popcorn
Once each summer, the folks who organize the Pettigrew Park outdoor film series show a pet-friendly flick. This year’s movie was—happily—Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Of course, I had to take Artie—and Socrates and Moxie tagged along, too, although Socrates prefers film noir. Needless to say, Artie loved the movie. And both dogs and people enjoyed their respective snacks. (Don’t let dogs try the popcorn. Chocolate is toxic to them!)
Sweet Potato Puppy Crunchers
Ingredients
Parchment paper for lining 2 baking sheets
¾ cup mashed sweet potatoes
3 tablespoons chicken broth
2 cups whole wheat flour
½ cup cornmeal
½ cup dried cranberries
1. Preheat your oven to 325°F and line two baking sheets with the parchment paper.
2. Mix together the sweet potatoes and the broth in a large bowl. Then add the flour, cornmeal, and cranberries, and stir until everything is well combined and a dough has formed. (At some point, you’ll probably want to squish everything together with your hands to form the dough.)
3. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and roll it out until it’s about ¼ inch thick. Either cut it into small squares with a knife or use decorative cookie cutters to form shapes.
4. Arrange the dough squares or shapes on the prepared baking sheets. Bake for about 40 minutes, or until the treats are golden brown on the bottom. Then turn off the oven, leave the oven door open just slightly, and allow the treats to dry out and cool for about 2 hours. Be patient, because that’s when they get the crunch.
Tuxedo Popcorn
Ingredients
1 cup pecan halves
10 cups popped popcorn (aka “a big bowlful”)
¼ cup salted butter
¾ cup dark chocolate chips
¾ cup white chocolate chips
1. Heat a small nonstick pan over medium heat, add the pecans, and carefully toast them, stirring frequently so they don’t burn.
2. In a large bowl, mix together the popcorn and the toasted pecans.
3. Melt the butter in the microwave, drizzle it over the popcorn mixture, and stir everything around with a large spoon. Spread the mixture out on a cookie sheet.
4. Place the dark chocolate chips in a small microwave-safe bowl. Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave. Start at 70 percent power for 1 minute, and then stir the melting chocolate. Repeat this procedure, but at 15-second intervals, until the chocolate is smooth.
5. Drizzle the chocolate over the popcorn mixture.
6. Repeat steps 4 and 5 with the white chocolate chips.
7. Try to allow the Tuxedo Popcorn to cool long enough for the chocolate to harden before returning it to a bowl an
d serving. But, let’s face it, you’re going to try some right away, and most of it will be gone before the movie even starts.
Makes 11½ cups
Keep reading for a preview of the next
Lucky Paws Pet-sitting Mystery,
starring Daphne Templeton, Ph.D.,
and Socrates, her long-suffering basset hound . . .
DIAL MEOW FOR MURDER
by
Bethany Blake
“When murder is unleashed in the idyllic town of
Sylvan Creek, it’s up to spunky pet sitter Daphne and
her darling duo of misfit mutts to catch the killer.
A doggone charming read from start to finish!”
—Cleo Coyle, New York Times bestselling author
For more information about Dial Meow for Murder
by Bethany Blake go to
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Chapter 1
The Flynt Mansion sat high upon a hill just outside Sylvan Creek, Pennsylvania, its twin turrets stabbing at a huge October moon that was obscured, now and then, by passing dark clouds. Local legend said the sprawling Victorian house, which overlooked Lake Wallapawakee, was haunted, but the evening of the Fur-ever Friends Pet Rescue gala fund-raiser, the place was spirited in a different way.
“This is so cool,” my best friend Moxie Bloom said, as we passed through tall iron gates that had concealed most of the property from the road. The gates clanged shut behind us, and I jumped, nearly dropping a big, plastic tub full of pet treats I’d cooked up for the party, which would support my favorite local charity. “Wow,” Moxie added. “It’s spooky gorgeous.”
I had to agree. The curving stone pathway that led to the house was lined with at least fifty glowing jack o’lanterns, their flickering faces carved into leering grins, grimaces of agony, and threatening scowls. The twisted branches of the property’s many crabapple trees were strung with twinkle lights, while three ornate, black-iron chandeliers—each holding at least twenty candles—were suspended from the sturdier oaks, so the grounds were bathed in a soft, mysterious light. More grim-faced jack o’lanterns were propped on the railing that surrounded the house’s wraparound porch. It looked like the pumpkins were guarding the mansion, which was dark inside, with the exception of single, lit candles that burned in each of the many tall, narrow windows.
The estate was already movie-set eerie, but the Fur-ever Friends decorating committee—chaired by my perfectionist sister, Piper Templeton—wasn’t finished yet. A few people still bustled around the grounds, setting up chairs and lighting even more candles.
Standing just inside the fence with Moxie and my canine sidekick, Socrates, I took a moment to drink in the scene. Then I frowned and turned to Moxie. “Umm . . . Why are we the only people in costumes?”
“I’m not wearing a costume,” Moxie said, sounding confused. She looked uncharacteristically demure in a vintage, mint-green wool suit with a high-collared jacket and a pencil skirt that hit mid-calf. A string of pearls circled her neck, and she’d dyed her hair from flame-red to a soft blond. “Why would you think that?”
“I thought you were Tippi Hedren, from The Birds.” I resumed watching the volunteers, most of whom wore sweaters and sweatshirts, then I adjusted a tall, pointed hat that kept slipping off my long, unruly, dirty-blond curls. I didn’t see one other witch, not to mention any ghosts or ghouls, and I started getting a little sweaty under my polyester cape. “I’m the only person who dressed up!” I glanced down at Socrates, taking some comfort in the fact that he was also in costume—only to discover that he looked like he always did: like a contemplative, sometimes morose, basset hound. “Where is your wizard hat?”
“Didn’t you see that fly out the window of the van, halfway up the hill?” Moxie asked, answering on behalf of Socrates, who was pretending he hadn’t heard me. He was staring straight ahead. However, I noticed that the very tip of his tail was twitching the way it did when he felt guilty. “I assumed you noticed,” Moxie continued, “and just didn’t want to turn around, because we were running late.”
I’d heard Socrates shuffling around in the backseat of my distinctive 1970s, pink VW bus, which advertised my business, Lucky Paws Pet Sitting—and featured a large, hand-painted dog that was often mistaken for a misshapen pony. I’d thought he was cranky about losing the front seat to Moxie, and I’d ignored him.
“I should’ve known you’d never really wear the hat,” I complained to Socrates, who had started snuffling. The sound was very reminiscent of a snicker. “You were far too agreeable about putting it on. I should’ve known something was up.”
Socrates finally looked up at me and blinked his droopy, brown eyes, as if to say, “Indeed, you should have known that I would never deign to don a costume.”
“Maybe I should go home and change,” I said, starting to turn around.
“You’re not going anywhere,” my sister called, hurrying across the lawn. She took the tub of snacks from me, like she couldn’t wait one more minute to get her hands on it. “You’re a half-hour late! There’s no time for you to return to Winding Hill, change clothes, and come back before the gala starts.”
Of course, she was right. It would take me at least twenty minutes to drive to Winding Hill Farm, where Piper—a successful veterinarian—let me live rent-free in her gorgeous, restored, 1860s farmhouse. Well, actually, I was moving into a cottage on the property. The adorable, tiny house had recently become available when the former tenant, Winding Hill’s caretaker, was arrested for the murder of Piper’s ex-boyfriend. I’d solved the crime—not that anyone would give me credit.
“This is Fur-ever Friends’s biggest fund-raiser of the year,” Piper added. “People—and pets—will start arriving in less than an hour. You need to set up the snack table for the dogs . . .” She finally looked me up and down. “No matter how silly you look.” Then she turned to Moxie and knitted her brows. “And who are you supposed to be? Tippi Hedren?”
Moxie’s cheeks flushed, just slightly. “It’s more of an homage than a costume,” she said, lifting her chin high. “The woman was Hitchcock’s muse. An icon!”
She was in costume. I’d known it.
“What happened to you?” I asked, thinking Piper was being a little judgmental for someone whose blouse was soaking wet.
My sister brushed ineffectually at a dark stain on her sleeve. “Pastor Kishbaugh and I were trying to move the apple bobbing tub. Water sloshed everywhere.”
I located Pastor Pete Kishbaugh, who was across the lawn, attaching fake ravens to the branches of a crabapple. If he was also soggy, his black shirt hid the problem.
“All three of you, come with me now,” Piper added, leading the way down the path. Temporary stain aside, she was dressed appropriately in dark slacks and a rust-colored top that hinted at fall, but didn’t scream “Halloween,” like my getup. Her straight, shiny brown hair—the polar opposite of the chaos on my head—was smoothed back and held in place with a pretty peach-and-brown patterned headband. “There’s still plenty to do before the guests show up,” she informed Moxie and me, over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
We all followed Piper, who lugged the plastic bin, while I tried to keep a grip on the billowing fabric of my cape, which kept getting perilously close to the gauntlet of jack o’lanterns. The last thing I needed was to make a bigger spectacle of myself by catching on fire. The tag on the cape had warned that the fabric wasn’t flame retardant.
“This is where you’ll set up,” Piper said, stopping in front of a table with a placard that advertised Howling Good Dog Treats, in a spooky, drippy script. The tabletop was already decorated with two life-size ceramic black cats, their backs arched high and their tails sticking straight up. Cute orange-and-black platters featured similar hissing felines, in a vintage design. The table was also scattered with dog-appropriate bones, all real and available for the munching. Piper set the bin on the grass. “As you can see, I did most of the work, in your absence.”
All at once, my sister’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried because Lillian Flynt, who is supposed to be hosting this event, is nowhere to be found. I’ve somehow ended up in charge of the whole thing. And to make matters worse, the power is out in the house, for some reason. These candles aren’t all just for show.”
“Miss Flynt isn’t here?” Moxie asked, looking around, like she might locate the older woman who was semi-affectionately known as Sylvan Creek’s “professional volunteer.”
Gray-haired, never-married heiress Lillian didn’t lack for money, so she’d made charity her life’s work. The local Weekly Gazette’s “About Town” society column almost always featured at least one photo of Miss Flynt in her signature knit cardigan, doing good things for others. One day, she’d be pictured delivering meals to folks even more elderly than she was, and the next, she’d be accepting an oversize grant check on behalf of the public library or ladling stew at a church soup kitchen. But while Lillian might have appeared kind and grandmotherly, she had a spine of steel. I’d worked with her quite a bit, on behalf of Fur-ever Friends, and she always acted like she was my boss, and I was an intern.
As I bent to open the bin, I flashed back to the day she’d approached me about “volunteering” for the gala.
“You are aware of the upcoming Fur-ever Friends party, correct, Daphne?” Miss Flynt had said, stopping me on Sylvan Creek’s main street by slamming a cane in my path. She couldn’t have been more than sixty-five, and she was probably in better shape than me, so I didn’t think she needed the stick for support. I was pretty sure it was a tool to keep others in line.
Death by Chocolate Lab Page 24