Fussy

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.

 

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