I like to think of myself as a no-frills kind of dog. I don’t ask for toys or chews or premium kibble. I don’t even remember the last time I hinted to Mom that I needed to go out and -well- relieve myself [which, granted, is mainly because I’ve started peeing behind the sofa in the study but whatever. What Mom doesn’t know won’t kill her].
And, sure, I sometimes throw a bit of a tantrum when my birthday/Christmas/any-festival-to-be-honest present hauls turn out to be measly, but apart from that, I’m an angel. Honestly, dogs like me don’t come along very often.
I don’t ask for fancy collars of gourmet biscuits; silk baskets or a robot assistant [OK, I might have asked for THAT last Christmas but I didn’t really mean it. And OK, maybe I refused to look at Mom and Dad for the next few weeks after I learned that they hadn’t gifted me one, but I was only joking. Obviously]; custom-made, YSL Halloween costumes or animal-friendly karaoke systems…
The one thing I DO ask for, however, the one thing I DEMAND, is being served my food on time.
That’s all I want.
And am I granted that common courtesy?? Does my so-called “family” do the one thing, the ONE thing, I beg them to do??
The answer is a exasperatingly loud and clear NO. No, they do not. They do not serve me my food before I am reduced to shimmying on the floor as a sort of “will-dance-for-food” routine. They do not bother feeding me until I have already starved half to death. It is mortifying and degrading and I do not appreciate it one bit.
Honestly, if I ever write an autobiography, copyright had better not stop me from titling it “The Hunger Games.” It had better not.