It's like finding money....

A couple evenings ago, I wandered out to my folks' house. I'd gotten off a whole six minutes early for work, and hadn't come over to say hello to them in more than a while. I got out to the house as they were making a pizza to bake.

We ate pizza, talked about our weeks, made plans to take over the world. You know: suppertime conversation.

Later in the evening, I happened to look down at their pug, Maximus. He'd finished eating his own supper, and had gone outside for his evening constitutional. Returning to his bed, he found a treat. Apparently, Dad had been sharing the pepperoni with the dogs. Max, whose eyes are bad and whose memory is worse, had missed and forgotten the treat.

As Max was preparing his bedding, he found the errant pepperoni.

I tend to think it was the canine equivalent of finding a dollar in a pair of pants, or an old coat.

Max spent the next couple of minutes smelling his bed. Likely, it was simply the residual scent of the snack meat. I like to think that inside his doggie-imagination, his bed had sprouted meat, and he was wishing that it would do it again.