When I was twelve, my cousin and I held a gala picnic for our family pets in honor of Independence Day. At that time, our dog was a wirehaired terrier named Junior had a negative personality. My mother insisted that the dog was a finicky eater and broiled him ground round patties and beef heart, which made the animal remarkably bilious.

My cousin Jessica owned a canary named Tweety, a hamster she called Lizzie, two Siamese fighting fish named Bill and Coo and a pedigreed boxer christened Dell of the Everglades. This dog was a unique combination of exuberance and muscle, so full of joie de vivre that anyone who dared to walk him experienced the unique sensation of flying without benefit of propeller.

My Aunt Hazel had a very tiny cocker spaniel they called Sparky who loved to roll over and play dead. He did this at inappropriate times such as in front of my aunt’s car when she pulled into the driveway or just after a heavy meal.

This was the summer of ’44 when everything that tasted good was rationed and no one had enough gasoline to drive to a park. “What are we going to do for the 4th of July?” asked Jessica “Our mothers are cooking for the USO. They said that if we wanted to have a picnic we’d have to make it ourselves.”

“Why don’t we give our pets a party?” I said. “I think they should know how much we love them.”

Jessica’s face brightened. “That’s a great idea, Lynnie!” she said. “Dell just loves celebrations and the canary has been molting all week. He is very depressed. But I don’t think I could stand to eat dog food. It has a terrible odor.”

“My mother never feeds Junior dog food,” I said. “She broils him expensive hamburgers and all we need to do is add a few onions to make them taste good.”

”Sparky can’t eat meat,” said Jessica. “He has a delicate digestive system and can only have rice.”

“We’ll mix the ground meat with rice. He’ll probably love it that way.” I said.

“ Why don’t we frost dog biscuits red, white and blue for dessert?” said Jessica. “Dell has such a sweet tooth that he jumps on the dining room table when my mother serves chocolate cake.”

“I’ll ask Mother to save sugar coupons and buy some food coloring,” I said. ”Should we have ice cream, too? It will be good for Junior. He has shallow bones.”

“ Can I bring the hamster, the bird and the goldfish?” asked Jessica.

“Why not?” I said. “Mary Kaplan has a cute little kitty named Elizabeth that we can invite and Aunt Hazel said she couldn’t leave her parrot at home because he is on anti-depressants.”

On the morning of our Big Event, Jessica arrived with a basket of frosted dog biscuits, peanut butter pralines for the hamster and a bowl of minnows for the goldfish. “What about Tweety and Aunt Hazel’s parrot Cyril?” I asked. “We don’t have any bird seed.”

“Tweety is molting again, so he’s on a liquid diet,” said Jessica. “I brought his bottle of Seagram's. We can share it with everyone.”
“Okay,” I said. “Lets pour a little in the dog bowls as an appetizer.”

The dogs lapped up that whisky like it was honey and pretty soon all of them were whirling around the yard as if someone had wound them up with a key. The birds were screaming from their cages and Lizzie was squeaking like an un-greased wheel. The cat had lunged to the top of the garage and sounded like an opened fire hydrant.

“I think it’s time to eat,” I said to Jessica.

Jessie and I set out big platters of hamburgers, onions, frosted dog biscuits and peanut butter candy on the picnic table. “I’ll bring out the plates,” I said but Jessica shook her head, “Too late,” she said.

I looked at the ravaged table. It was turned on its side and Dell was gazing at it while he chewed up the last of the forks. “How did Lizzie get in that tree?” I asked.

Jessica frowned. “She jumped. I think Dell thought she was dessert.”

“Where’s Tweety?” I asked.

“He’s huddled in a corner in his cage. I’ve never seen him shake like that,” said Jessica. “ I’m really hungry. Where did you put our hamburgers?”

“On the platter,” I said.

Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh,” she said.

“I think I saw a bag of Ken L Ration in the pantry,” I said. “My mother keeps it for emergencies.”

“I wonder how it tastes with mustard?” said Jessica.

I opened up four cans of Ken L Ration and put the contents under the broiler. It didn’t smell bad exactly, but it didn’t smell good either. I put the dog food into hamburger buns and arranged them on the platter. Just then my mother and my aunt pulled into the driveway. “I am ravenous!” said my mother. “Those boys ate like it was their last meal!”

“It might very well be,” said my aunt. “Oh look! Lynnie made hamburgers!”

She beamed at me.

Jessica and I watched horrified while our hungry mothers gobbled up dog food sandwiches and the dogs lapped up the ice cream I had brought out for dessert. “Should we tell them?” said Jessica.

“Let’s sneak over to Mrs. Zarneckie’s,” I said. “There must be one hundred drunken relatives in their back yard. They’ll never notice us.”

As we tiptoed out the back door, I heard my mother exclaim, “These are really delicious! What did Lynnie do to them?”

“I think she used some garlic,” said my aunt. “Would you like another?”