Banana-man said, “Your dog’s not eating, is it OK?”
Banana-man and Tiger-dog get along like cake and icing, they are both better together.
“Sometimes she doesn’t like her choice.” I offered, glancing over to her still-full-breakfast bowl.
By lunch time, I’d put out a second choice.
He said, “It’s still not eating. Is it sick?” He never uses her name; he calls her ‘dog’ when ‘it’ won’t work.
By 2:00 p.m. I put the whole chicken in the oven and started it up. I was getting worried too, Tiger-dog is food driven and this was not good. She’d not had a scrap of food since dinner last night.
At 4:00 p.m. I found Tiger-dog snoozing under the oven door. I pulled the done chicken out. Tiger-dog followed the chicken to the counter.
“It has to rest for 20 minutes.” I explained to her. She curled up on the cold tile floor.
I came in from sweeping the pool to find Car-man picking at the chicken and ‘accidently’ dropping big chunks Tiger-dog’s way.
“There’s nothing wrong with that dog.” Banana-man announced. He’d been watching the charade for a while. “Why’d you cook a chicken? I thought we were going out?”
I didn’t answer, I just joined everyone in eating the hot roasted chicken and dropping pieces to Tiger-dog.
She’s now snoozing happily, with a full tummy, and we’re on our way out for dinner.
I think that’s enough said.