Tonight Steve prepared the usual nutritious White Dog Army dinners which include homemade portions mixed with kibble. White Dog always get a bit extra fresh turkey cut over the top of her bowl. THIS evening she got that and, along with all of the White Dogs, a tiny sprinkling of pork that we shredded to make our pulled pork barbecue.
NEVER believe anyone who says dogs do not sort their food. White Dog carefully picked out the pork, ate the turkey, and sipped the bone broth...but she left the majority of her food untouched. She made it very clear that she was saving room for the bbq sauced meat that dad was having.
"You still have not finished your dinner," Steve told her. She moved to the other end of the couch. "I have nothing to share." She sat next to him and stared at his plate. "The sauce is not good for you, here, finish your dinner." She tapped him on his leg as though he might not understand. Then she gave him her most endearing "look." I could feel Steve struggling from across the room.
"You may be queen, dear one," I told her, "but you are not getting anything from anyone's plate." She jumped down to come and sit in front of me. "Nope, you have a wonderful meal in your bowl. It is that or nothing. And you will be hungry later."
White Dog looked at me and flashed her eyes defiantly. "Nope." She hopped back up next to Steve who tried to handfeed her from her bowl. "Momma said you must eat YOUR dinner, please?"
WD sniffed his fingers, glared at me, hopped off of the sofa and went off to pout in her bed.
Very softly so he would not be heard, Steve asked, "Does the ban include bedtime treats?"
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