I’m busy writing away upstairs. Last time I looked, it was 4:00 in the afternoon. Suddenly, I hear my dog Tasha get up off the floor next to me, she shakes, she moves in closer, and I can feel her expectant stare right on me. It’s 5:45, and the dinner routine is about to start–just 15 minutes from can-opening time, and somehow, she knows it. I might still be consumed with work, but at the witching hour, I have no choice but to pull myself away from the computer and out of my chair. I must trundle downstairs to attend to the needs of my dog.
I didn’t mean to train my dog to eat at such a specific time, but 6 o’clock it is–every night. On the dot. If I stay out late, I think Tasha sits beside her food bowl, waiting for me to come home and get on with it. She’s always right where she should be, sitting patiently (but not too patiently), and drooling to her heart’s content.
I’ve heard that it’s not good to feed your dog at the same time every night. I don’t remember where or why, but there’s no going back now. Tasha is set for life. Even when I go out of town and leave her in the care of a dog sitter or a friend, I’m told she’s as prompt as ever. The dog sitter or friend who doesn’t heed the hour is in for some substandard doggie behavior. There might even be some whining.