It's shortly after supper. I rise from my chair and go into the garage. There's a bag of garbage to carry out to the dumpster. I pick it up and open the back door.

A black and white streak shoots at me from across the yard. Buster, the dog, eagerly runs in tight, imperfect circles around my legs. The circles are imperfect because his tail is wagging so furiously it throws him off course. Sometimes I almost trip over him, but today I don't.

I open the back gate and walk over to the dumpster. Buster waits impatiently just inside the gate. He peers at me, quivering in anticipation. I return to the back yard, closing the gate behind me. Buster runs alongside, leaping into the air every step or so, trying to lick my hand as we return to the garage.

Just inside the door is a 5 gallon tub. It used to hold birdseed, but now it holds the object of Buster's attention: DOGFOOD! I scoop out a cup and pour it into the bowl. Buster shoots to the bowl and sniffs. He looks at it and sniffs again. Finally he looks at me as if to say "That's it?!?" and trots out into the yard.

Yep. Every time.

--Baloo

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