Wednesday, 6 April 2011
The daily routine:
It's five o'clock; Tosca reminded me ten minutes earlier. She has a clock in her stomach, I swear, although it runs ten minutes fast.
"Dinner for dogs!" I call. That's my equivalent of a dinner gong, and it's music to their ears.
The cats, who can eat freely whenever they like and no longer have a set meal time, gather to watch the floor show. The dogs hop up and down and trip me up.
Dogs' dinner time is somewhat ritualistic, and fraught with tension.
First there's the waiting. The scoops of food are dispensed, warm water added. (The water slows Flossie down a little, and helps 7-toothed Tosca to manage her kibble.)
Flossie illustrates the Pavlovian conditioned reflex.
Then comes the wolfing. Dinner lasts only a few seconds for Flossie; she will also eat anything.
Flossie's dinner is served in the back kitchen.
The baby gate is there for a reason.
It takes longer for Flossie to do her washing up than to devour her dinner. When her bowl is spotlessly clean, she waits again; then she must fetch it to me...
...and hand it over. She learned this from the other dogs at Fran's house.
Meantime, on the other side of the baby gate, Tosca is tucking in. She eats steadily, but hasn't got Flossie's high-speed hoovering technique.
Her Personal Taster has inspected the food, and pronounced it safe to eat, although not appetising to cats.
The gate gives Tosca time to finish her dinner without having a large black dog looming over her, watching, waiting, drooling.
When Tosca has finished, Flossie does the washing up for her too. Nobody can polish a dish like Flossie can!
Then it too is handed over.
And they both get a little treat.
Dessert for dogs.
And then it's all over till breakfast the following day.
It's a simple enough life.....
Posted by rachel at 12:20