Serious Eats - seriouseats.com

We love our Oklahoma Joe's grill. It's about 20 years old and still going strong. The grill was a much sought after item during my divorce. Guess who won? That's what happens when you pony up for the best divorce lawyer.

Now my new and improved husband and I use it to grill most everything.

Lily (130 lb bullmastiff) is wherever I am - she keeps my kitchen floor impeccably clean :), but is afraid of the mixer. She can hear the fridge open from any room in the house.
In 25 years of large dogs and a small kitchen, there have only been 2 mishaps. Gracie, our last Neapolitan mastiff, learned how to open the oven, the microwave and the refridgerator - so I lost the Thanksgiving leftovers when I went shopping on Black Friday about 8 years ago. Locks were put on the fridge after this. Rip, another Neo, got splashed with boiling pasta water - he stayed away from me when I carried pots from then on.

our dogs know they are allowed in the dining area but not the cooking area. they will wait patiently to be tossed scraps.

When I joined the household there were dogs used to being where they wanted to be....not so much in my kitchen. It's dangerous for them and for me. It took about a week before we had an imaginary line that they did not cross when I was in the kitchen.

Kids and grandkids understood that pre-helping they could be in the kitchen in highchairs (strapped in), and learning came with a hat, an apron and a stool for them to stand on. I have had some great helpers over the years, they have had fun and learned how to behave in the kitchen (safe).

Sorry, lex (she said with a sheepish grin whilst blushing furiously)... Don't know how I misread that. I must have already been a good ways into that bottle of cotes du rhone when I replied.

Please disregard.

We've had eight dogs over the course of our marriage: mutt, beagle, JRTs, bearded collie, Berners. We've always ignored begging, and so they pretty much didn't/don't do it. I thought, unlike my parents, that they shouldn't have human food with the exception, of leftover Brussels sprouts and bits of banana; my husband has different policies as do visiting friends and relatives. Every part of our home has been open to them, and although I've worried about their safety outside, I never have when inside. Most of them have learned to vacuum up diced vegetables as they flew off the chopping block or accidental spills. Some have seemed to have known, no matter from how far away, when I unwrapped the imported Parmesan. The greedy, greedy beagle (found two pounds of Sees chocolates my mother had hidden, ate them while we were out, and did not die) always knew when my husband opened a jar of peanuts no matter how hard he tried to muffle the sound.
Lots of amusement, great joy, supplementary vacuuming, what's not to love?

I've had many rescue dogs and cats also, at times. The highest number was three dogs and four cats at once - but mostly they lived outside - there was a lot of acreage they could run and play on and they preferred that to being in the house mostly except for sleeping.

I can think of more instances where the cats brought me birds or chipmunks or rabbits to cook (believing that I would be very pleased, happy and proud of them for doing so)(wrongly) than I can think of them being in the kitchen lurking . . . and one dog (indeterminate breed but definitely part beagle) was apparently an excellent hunter all on his own, for several times he carried home enormous wild turkeys to me with his tail wagging, his eyes gleaming at his prowess. Poor fellow thought the world had gone upside down every time I refused to let him in with his gift.

My Pomeranian who got drunk on beer once at a big party at my house used to sit outside the kitchen, flat out like a tiny black bear rug, legs extended backwards, head on front paws in prayer position, with some sort of reproachful look in his eyes when I cooked. He had the art of doling out guilt well and he usually got tidbits thrown to him, whereupon he would assume the prayer position again till he'd had his fill.

At the moment I have one cat who will not eat her food unless I stand and chat with her to keep her company. If I do not she comes and gets me, emitting little meows and prrps endlessly, and leads me back to her food where she will eat if I talk.

Then there's the little brown bird with the red beak who knocks against my window at 8AM sharp every morning, once or twice if I've put out birdseed but endlessly, for an hour or more straight if I have not refilled it enough. I believe the bird is a person stuck in a bird's body somehow. I also believe the person stuck in the person's body is an ex-New Yorker and a guy, though the bird is a female red cardinal. Don't ask me how I know this - I just do.