Sharing

Sharing is over-rated.  I’ve always said it.  Most guys I know feel the same way.  (I do think this is one of those male/female divides.)  I’m talking about sharing food, for the most part.  I’ll order a medium-sized cup of home-made soft ice cream at Bostwick’s, let’s say.  Carol will undoubtedly ask for a taste.  I’ll offer to order another cup for her.  She’ll say no, I don’t want my own cup; I just want a little of yours.  But what I want is all of mine.  That’s why I ordered it.  If I knew I had to share it, I would have ordered a large.  (Note to self: Always order a large in the future.)

What I really hate is when we’re out with a group and someone says, “Let’s get a bunch of appetizers — and share!”  My first thought:  I won’t get enough of what I like, and I’ll get lots and lots of what I don’t like.  As in, I’ll get maybe one-and-a-fraction of those yummy spring rolls — and all the kale salad I can eat.

Some things, to be fair, you have to share.  They’re made that way.  You’d have to be a truly gross pig to order the Chocolate Bag at Dave’s Grill in Montauk for yourself.  O.M.G. — this is the best dessert EV-ER: a “bag” of hard, dark Belgian chocolate filled with scoops of scrumptious Tahitian vanilla ice cream, topped with fresh whipped cream, raspberry sauce, and creme anglaise.  The servers will tell you it’s meant for four people.  Fine.  But just give me my own plate.  Let me cut off a fourth of that amazing concoction and isolate it.  All right,

horde it.  Let me know exactly how much I get to eat.  And let me be sure I’m not going to have it taken from me.

It’s with some embarrassment that I have to confess that my dog is better at sharing than I am.  Way better.  He allows — even encourages — his friend Luke to help himself to his bowl of kibble.  No toy of Kemba’s is so good that he won’t happily share it with his good buddy Bruce.  Just a few hours ago Kemba met Bandit, Ricky’s old pal, on the beach — and gladly split his water dish with her.

But what I find truly amazing is Kemba’s eagerness to share his tennis ball.  This is a dog who is obessed with his

tennis ball.  This is a dog who will fetch a tennis ball FOREVER.  But put Luke in the game with him, and Kemba will drop that ball, tail wagging, and let Luke be the one to carry it back.  If Bruce wants to bury Kemba’s ball in the sand — this is the way Bruce prefers to play fetch — that’s cool, too.

Also:  He’ll choose in any stranger on the beach for his game.  He could be absolutely riveted on leaping the waves and snagging that ball and racing to bring it back to me . . . until some random couple strolls by.  Kemba will trot right up to them, drop the ball at their feet, and look up, head cocked engagingly.  If that doesn’t work, he’ll give the ball a nudge with his nose.  Ninety-five percent of the time they’ll take the bait, pick up the ball, and chuck it for him.  Aha!  Now, as far as Kemba’s concerned, they’re part of the game.  I have to admit, I find his inclusiveness and generous spirit admirable.

Still, please don’t touch my spring rolls.

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