A Tale of Two Turnips

I pulled a couple of turnips out of the garden the other day and used the greens for a stir-fry. The turnips themselves I left on the table outside to get some of the mud washed off the roots by the rain that day.

But Cubby got to them first.

I went inside to check on something in the oven, and when I came back out, he was gnawing on one of the raw turnips. With mud on his face.

Clean vegetables are for sissies.

Good thing there were two turnips, because of course Charlie had to have what his big brother had.

Though I did cut the muddy roots off of his, in the interests of saving myself some laundry.

I took a bite of one myself, just out of curiosity. Those are some peppery sumbitches raw. I didn't think they'd eat more than a couple of bites each.

They each ate about half of their turnips, and then Cubby tossed his to Mia. "Dogs don't eat turnips," I started to say.

You'd think after seven years, I would know that Mia eats ANYTHING.

Next time I might manage to actually cook the turnips before they get devoured by the hungry--and without doubt very weird--hordes. But I wouldn't bet on it.