Of course, I only know what happens when we're there.
A few weeks ago, I was on my way out the door with a to-go box meant for the trash. I made it outside, but my to-go box, filled with a chicken taco, rice and beans, didn't quite make it. My motto is always forget one thing at home. That day's thing was my two-day-old Mexican dinner.
When my house reeked of cilantro and cumin upon my return, I realized what I had done. I ran over to the precise corner of our rug that Ike has deemed his special treat-eating place. I found:
- a styrofoam container, licked clean and ripped in half.
- a single slice of avocado. Untouched.
If I were to hand Ike a taco right now, he would swallow the entire thing whole. But something different must happen when no human eyes are watching his every move.
I like to believe it includes a fancy picnic blanket, a fork and a knife (and temporary opposable thumbs), and a lobster bib. He sits on his picnic blanket like so:
and delicately lifts each different type of food. "Tortilla shell? Check. Rice and beans? Check. Chicken? HELL YES CHECK. Pico de gallo? Check. Avocado? AVOCADO? How dare they expect me to eat this poor excuse for a fruit? I am a pit bull in a lobster bib, dammit."
And then he leaves the avocado slice on the floor and takes his fourth nap of the day.