I hated that Timberwolf. That’s why I grazed on bras and head sets–to fill myself up so I wouldn’t have to eat that awful food. Mommis thought I was being snooty, or that I didn’t like breakfast, but actually I was trying to tell her something: I hated that food so much I only ate when I was ravenous, and at the end of the day I was ravenous so I had to eat din, and then at night I ate anything I could get my paws on.
California Natural is much better, and now I line up by my bowl the way Paunnie does. And oh, by the way, she feeds me right by the garbage and then she wonders why I get confused and open the garbage can when I get hungry.
Look where Paunnie eats. He eats at the table. Clearly he’s the main man and I’m the after-dog.
Is that because she got him first? Or because I was a rescue? I’m feeling a little insecure this morning. I’m going to present myself on her bed and see if I can get a little attention before the dog park.