I admit it. When Michael came here to live, I unabashedly tried to to buy his affection. It was milk-bone biscuits for any and all occasions. Go outside, go potty, come back in and get a 'good boy' treat; in fact, get two. Go for a ride in Truck, get two treats...always two. It started with some medium size bones left over from Bessie Anne, but then I realized Michael was getting perhaps more treats per day than were good for him. However, by then the precedent had been set and we all know how Michael thrives on routine. Okay, we went to a smaller biscuit, two at a time. He crunches up one, and then stands, glancing at the pocket where treats are kept, waiting for number two. Any hesitation on my part and I get The Look. Okay, fine...and I produce the second. Michael is happy and goes on about his business. We're down to mini-mini size milk-bones now. It isn't the size, it's the number. Don't tell me dogs can't count. And Michael is such a good boy.
Stay safe. Be well.
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