Spot enters the kitchen, observes her bowl of dog (not) food and looks at me like, “I got up for this?” She then proceeds to run through her repertoire of groans, cries, barks, snorts, and shakes of her head side-to-side and up-and-down. I leap into action—she’s about to flip the bowl.
I pick it up and remind her from whence she came. I set the food back on the floor. She stares forlornly at it for about 60 seconds—willing it to morph into freshly grilled steak. I think I’m OK, turn my back, and wham! She flips the bowl with her paw and rice flies everywhere.