Food is My Life

I admit it. I am obsessed with food. There’s other stuff—belly rubs and squeaky toys and running around smelling things—but nothing like food. Treats, meals, and especially people food.

I’m lucky to live in a city where people roam around throwing stuff on the street. And especially in the park, where they have parties and picnics and homeless people. Just two days ago I was off my leash to run home to our door. That’s what my owner mom does. Lets me loose at the end of a walkie. But my nose detected a chicken bone just lying there next to the dumpster, past our stairs. Now she keeps me on the leash all the way home. Not like there’s another chicken bone there. But that’s how they are; after I do something they change stuff.

If food is your life, and you're an only dog, you’re lucky. All the food is yours. Anything you can find, or beg, or climb on the table to eat. All the treats are yours. All the chews and bones are yours. And that’s a good thing. It’s simple. If a dog visits, you can share if you want to. Or if you have to. But when the company goes home, it’s all yours again.

But when a new dog moves in with you and never leaves, all your stuff is now their stuff. It’s not easy. You can hide stuff. You can stand over stuff and give the other dog dirty looks. But you can’t keep it all for yourself. I’m working on it.

And thanks to Dobby for this award! And I'd like to give it to Joe Stains and Lorenza