As I finished doing the dishes, I glanced over to see Payne leaning intently over his plate (now bereft of his favorite food in the whole wide world) and speaking earnestly to Genevieve:
"Gee-vive, you got to give me your macawoni and cheese. You got to do the wight ding. Put it on my pwate."
Genevieve, swayed by his moving oratory, thoughtfully handed over a gooey fistful.
Payne hoovered it up before it even had a chance to decompress.
In other amusing news, I caught G in dead dog position this morning, for the first time in over a year.
Ethel came in to award points for accuracy of form. G got an eight out of ten, because dachshunds don't hug taggie blankets, even post mortem.