Food Issues

OK, so I like to eat.  A lot.  I've always been like that.  Maybe when I was a tiny puppy, I got pushed away from the nipple once too often, because now I eat like I haven't seen food for a week.  Dougal, on the other hand, can hardly be bothered.  He often comes and sniffs his breakfast with disdain, then walks away.  In the good old days, that was a bonanza for me.  That meant two breakfasts for Hannah.  Even if he did eat, I would finish my own food in 33 seconds flat, then circle him like a shark, or a vulture, waiting for him to walk away or for the person to LOOK away.  

Apparently the people found that annoying.  Now they chain me up like a prisoner to eat, while Dougal has free reign.  Sometimes they forget about me for a little while, and if Dougal has left some food in his bowl, it drives me CRAZY not to be able to reach it.  They never let me eat the leftovers.  They'd rather throw it in the trash than let me have it, and I just cannot relate to that mentality.  

Even worse is that they make me sit while they're getting the food ready, and think it's really funny to play "Any Word But OK," even when I am half dead of starvation.  Here I am, shaking with hunger and excitement, waiting for that special word, when instead of OK, they say "butterfinger!"  When I dash for my food, they say "NO!," make me sit back down, then laugh their heads off.  I'd like to BITE their heads off.  "Popcorn!"  "Peanutbutter!"  "Hooray!"  "OK!"  At last.  Grrrrrrrr.  The things you have to do when you're a dog.

That's all for today,

Hannah