I was 6 years old and living in South Berwick when I learned the art of cooking.

The recipient of my culinary skills was our dog, Tiger. This was a time when canned dog food wasn’t readily available and pet stores sold, well, pets.

I’d watched my mother mix up a bit of this, add leftovers from the fridge to create the night’s concoction for our mutt while singing, “Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be …” After countless nights of this routine, I decided I, too, could cook.

My mom agreed. From then on, with the step stool jammed against the oven door, apron in place, I’d wait for the sound of the sizzle as the meat hit the pan and stir with a vengeance to prevent any burning, as that was a sure sign of failure for a cook.

My mother’s eyes and nose were on the alert, since at the age of 3 I’d melted the handles of her cook pans. Intrigued at my mom’s ability to make fire appear with the turn of a knob on the gas stove (I’ve always been a visual learner), once she left the room I couldn’t resist. Atop my stool I labored as the sound of Tiger’s nails clicked across the kitchen linoleum.

Oh, the meals I’d make for this canine of ours. Pleased as I was with my accomplishments as a cook, he was even happier and never declined any of my home-cooked meals. Instead, he licked his chops in appreciation, then cast me a look that begged more, please make more.

While we developed a relationship – which really made me happy because he preferred my older brother – I developed confidence.

An added realization was that when one can prepare a meal, even for the dog, self-sufficiency was possible. Feeding our dog proved to be the basis of many more satisfying and nourishing feasts to come. I became curious about ingredients and recipes, and my taste buds blossomed. From this early attempt to be “all grown up” I learned and developed my love of cooking.

Years later, my mom still cooked from those pans that resembled a whirligig toy. When asked why she kept these old things, her reply was, “These are still good pans!” Perhaps – but I was always suspicious it was to remind me of what a handful I’d been.

With time I came to understand and appreciate how cookware and a stove can become more than just accessories to meal preparation. After a kitchen renovation, I missed my stove so much I had it hauled in from the garage and the shiny new one returned to the store.

Eventually I gave in but not before finding a good home, with a budding chef, for the old Kitchen Aid.

Today I’ve come full circle. After trying countless brands of dog food for our Labrador retriever, the vet determined he has food allergies and my home-cooked meals serve him best. Moxie agrees; time to listen for the sizzle. 

– Special to the Telegram