The Doggy Bag

Humans have a knack of giving odd (and sometimes troubling) names to items.

Take for instance, hot dogs.  Why would anyone decide to name a delicious sausage shaped food item after one of my race?  I mean, Sister has assured me that hot dogs are not made from dogs (I can't tell you how relived I was when I heard this especially since I find hot dogs quite tasty) but then why call them that?  Why not "hot cats" or "hot squirrels" instead?  It makes just about as much sense!

And then there are doggy bags.  Now, I've been fooled by this title before.  Humans return from a restaurant with a little bag that smells absolutely delicious and instead of giving it to "the doggy" they stuff it in the refrigerator and eat it all themselves the following day at lunch.  It's just not fair!  I mean, they could easily call it a "human bag" or "leftover bag."  I wouldn't have a problem with that (though I would probably follow after the person begging for the nice smelling food they're transporting).  But no, the humans call it a doggy bag and then they refuse to share it with the dog.

That is, most of the time they don't share their doggy bag with the dog.

On Friday night, Ma came home from dinner with one of those so-called "doggy bags."  Always available for a quick snack (hey, it had been all of ten minutes since I ate my dinner), I followed her around dutifully, but ultimately resigned myself to being denied the contents of the bag once she placed it in the refrigerator.

Boy was I mistaken!

Twenty four hours later, when it was once again supper time, Ma retrieved the little bag from the refrigerator, extracted some of its contents, cut the contents into bite-sized pieces, nuked them in the microwave until they were warm, then added the bits to my bowl of kibble.  Overcome with excitement, I beat Ma to my designated supper area (a small elevated table on which my bowl is placed that Ma says prevents me from having acid reflux--I just enjoy the fact that I don't have to reach all the way down to the floor to eat), watched her put my bowl down, then I scooped up a large mouthful of its contents.

Steak!  Ma had given me steak!

Needless to say, I licked my bowl clean (well, I always do that, but this time I did it with great gusto).

And do you know what?  My next four suppers had cut up steak in them also!

Finally, the entire contents of a doggy bag went to the dog.