I am amazed how little it takes to make Juneau happy. . .and she lets me know when the time is ripe. It's as though she has a biological clock that rings "treat time. . . treat time."
I generally have my salad around 6:30 pm. . . and it's exactly at that time she begins pestering me with her "it's time. . . it's time" look. Now, in my defense, the chicken is fried in cooking spray, so there's no fat involved. In fact, those couple pieces of chicken are healthy.
The funniest thing, though, is what happens at 9:30. Her clock again goes off as she knows I'll give her a treat when I put her in her crate. Go figure. . . she's actually begging me to lock her up. One time we tried leaving her out of her crate, but in that circumstance there was no treat. . . and she wasn't happy. So we began locking her up again.
.
