The paradox for all to enjoy is that in my formative years, dogs had their place...outside, on a chain unless the temperature dropped below freezing (rare in South Texas) and fed dry kibble. It's not that they were treated poorly, they just weren't equal to say, children, in the eyes of my parents.
Flash forward 30+ years. Mom's mellowed quite a bit where the furry ones are concerned. Once her nest became empty, guess who filled the void?!?
While my mom's been here, we've had breakfast in the Dayspring room almost every morning. It's warm, bright and has excellent views of the bird feeders and the rising sun. The first morning, I prepared biscuits, eggs, fruit, etc... I set a pretty table and mom and I enjoyed a leisurely breakfast. I noticed while eating, her pushing some scrambled eggs to the side of her plate. All the while, Mocha is laying very still under the breakfast table, pretending to watch the birds. In truth, she's waiting to see if the milk bone lady is going to come forth with a tasty morsel.
I feared the worse. Mom shot a sideways glance in my direction, picked up her fork and put 1/2 the scrambled eggs on it. In a sing-song voice, she called her grand dog over. "Sit Mocha," she said. Mocha obliged. Then she extended her arm, holding the fork full of eggs out with the instructions, "now take it pretty." Mocha gently slid the eggs off the end of the fork without scraping her teeth on the tines!
I tried not to giggle. That would only encourage my mother and well, what starts with scrambled eggs could end up as matching outfits. In my most stern voice I said, "Mom," to which she replied, "What?" It was the way she said "what" that completely disarmed me and I knew the battle was over before it had begun.
For the eight days my mom was here, Mocha got whatever Mocha wanted, including three dog treats at a time. Mom returned to Texas two days ago...Mocha is still moping.