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He automatically assumes he will eat too

Poor Lucky. Whenever I start to cook, he automatically assumes he will eat too. He sits at attention at the edge of the kitchen and stares so hard I swear his eyeballs will roll out of his head one day. He never lets me out of his field of vision. When I walk across the floor to get something from the refrigerator, he turns his whole body around so that he doesn’t lose sight of me. He’s not allowed in while I am cooking. He knows it. Instead, he plants himself right on the border between the dining room and the kitchen, always a few inches over the line. When I say to him, “Lucky! Ouuut!!” Then and only then will he scooch behind the line. Today, I was cooking hamburgers for lunch. It wasn’t his mealtime, so I didn’t give him anything other than his usual rawhide snack. He seemed disappointed, but not disappointed enough to ignore his favorite treat. I felt bad for Lucky. I can eat whatever I want whenever I want, but he has to be subjected to my arbitrary feeding schedule. It’s not fair. Sometimes I fear that if the tables were ever turned and I was reborn as a dog, and he was reborn as my master, he would get great satisfaction from cooking juicy burgers in front of me and not giving me any. Perhaps some latent memory of what it was like will switch on in his subconscious and cause him to give me all the burgers I want. In which case, I would probably die fat and relatively young in dog years.


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