Ah… eating. The glint of the bowl, the clatter of kibble, the kitchen ambiance that all combine to lend a certain je ne sais quoi to the simple act of eating as fast as possible. (Yeah that was French. I met a french poodle on a walk the other day and I’m a quick study.)
Anyway, it was wonderful until today, when dad lost his mind.
I can proudly state that when it comes to eating, I have the process down to a science.
- Sit on the “waiting rug” while dad fills my bowl (and Raven’s too but whatever)
- Run to my “eating rug” and wait impatiently while dad walks over and sets my bowl down.
- Devour the entire contents as fast as possible when dad says, “OK”
- Check to be sure Raven did the same thing and offer to help if she’s still busy (dad’s pretty alert to that act of kindness though)
So imagine my surprise when dad took my entire scoop of food and put it all into various compartments of some kind of evil doggy puzzle!
HEY! Don’t play with my food! Not a toy! Not. A. Toy!
But he did. He carried the puzzle thingy over to the floor in the living room (not my “eating rug,” so yet another unacceptable breach of protocol), told me to sit, and then after about a week, told me OK.
Here’s a video of me and the puzzle:
It took me a little while to figure out how to push and wiggle the various covers open so I could get to the food THAT WAS ALREADY MINE. But I’m not bitter. Ok, a little bitter. But it was sort of fun.
And I made a discovery! Those little kibbles actually have flavor! Who knew? Like seriously, if you chew them first they taste like something. Maybe chicken? I wouldn’t know since I haven’t met a chicken, much less eaten one, but I’m still pretty sure it tasted like one.
If it’s all the same though, I’m fine with eating out of my bowl. Ok? 
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