vino

What draws people to certain bottles of wine?

Type, perhaps: Chardonnay, Merlot, Pinot, Shiraz: oh each beautiful name rolls of my tongue like melted butter.

Or maybe it's like real estate; location location location: California, Oregon, Washington, France, Spain, and Australia.

For the eye of an aesthetically minded person, color; red, white, blush.

The written descriptors: richly layered with mango and hints of citrus, bold with undertones of cherry and chocolate, light and playful with a touch of florals and honey.

It really could be any combination of the above reasons. But if you take the time to stroll through the wine section, you'll see what I think is the real driving factor behind choosing the perfect bottle: what you feel when you look at the label.
Sometimes you want your familiar old friend, the everyday Cabernet to sit and relax with you, calming, trusted, and always perfect.
Maybe you need the elegant Sofia Rose to recreate a taste of one truly magical night and a small Italian restaurant in southern California.
There's always something classic, a cheap White Zinfandel that your mom used to drink, you'll sip it and give her a call tonight.
And there's the thrill of something new. Something you hadn't ever heard of. The risk: $14.99 will it be good wine or bad? A label that just catches your eye or a price tag that fits nicely with your wallet. Sunshine, animals, grapes, moons and stars, people and trucks. A wine label could really be anything.

Last night, I bought a bottle of red. Fin it was called. And there was the shadow of a dog that looked just like the silhouette of my puppy Huckleberry. It went perfectly with my do-it-yourself spinach, roasted red pepper, tomato and goat cheese pizza. And as I toasted Huck, the sweet, the loving, the companion.....I realized he was covered in shit.

Ok, sometimes dogs like to roll in poo. And he went right to the bath. After he had been thoroughly shampooed, conditioned and rinsed clean, I sat down with my glass of wine again and the pup. I was smiling fondly at the little trouble maker. What a dirty little dog. How endearing. He was sleeping soundly, peacefully. And I was enjoying my Cab. I read and drank wine until I couldn't keep my eye lids apart. It was time for bed. There would be nothing stopping me from slipping between the sheets and falling deeply into a restful sleep. Huck had pounded up the stairs ahead of me. What a sweet boy. All ready to crawl into bed and snuggle. I stopped to wash my face and as soon as I entered into my room, undressing as I walked, I noticed he was in bed.....on the sheets actually, chewing on a softened, messy, smeared piece of cat poop. Good feelings were gone. He was no longer endearing, but truly, madly DISGUSTING. I opened the windows, cast away the soiled sheets, light a lavender candle and sulked into bed. Huck was in time-out for 12 minutes before I let him sleep at the foot of the bed (he was not getting near my pillow.)