Burger’s addicted to rawhide bones. So addicted that every night he literally waits for me to give him one (we store them in the Parsons desk).
Never have I seen this dog have such focus and determination about one single object.
It’s as if tearing each bone apart is his life’s work. And his legacy is on the line every night.
Perhaps my favorite part of his ritual is how his front paws are forced to be as hand-like as possible. Gripping that thing, doing their darndest to hold it in place.
But hey, as long as he’s happy.
That is, until I step barefoot on a half-eaten stick that he gave up on and it stabs me in the heel.