Good Taste

 

Look into this face and tell me Michael is not a sentient being.  Intelligence just shines out of those eyes.  This is not a dog to whom one would talk baby talk.  Can you imagine his disdain if I were to ask him, "Does Babykins want nummies?"  I would slink away in shame at his response.

Michael is a dog of discriminating taste.  Carrots, no.  Yams, yes.  Green beans, no.  Spinach, yes.  Color has nothing to do with his likes and dislikes, and he does like veggies.  He is definite, but not effusive.  There is no bouncing up and down, no begging for food.  Even when eating from his bowl of kibble, there is great restraint.  If he had a napkin, he would carefully place it before beginning.  As it is, he lies down by his bowl and politely eats one piece at a time.

If Michael is lacking anything, it is a sense of humor.  He does not play.  There is a basket of toys that goes untouched.  We do not chase or tease.  I can only imagine the look I'd get if I were so inclined.  There is no other dog like Michael.

This last weather front has been a relatively warm one, but, of course, it is winter.  I was speaking with Tinka yesterday and I mentioned that I had not yet lit a fire so far, not wanting to deplete the woodpile and waste the Kids' work.  Tinka said, "Light a fire!  They did all that work because they wanted you to be warm.  They'll get you more wood."  Never let it be said that I won't take good advice.  I put Stove to work last night.  Ahhh.

Stay safe.  Be warm.

PS:  Did you notice that I got the picture and text to line up?!