Dinner time in our house is a ritual. She sits tall and poised, watching every movement in the kitchen like a critic at a fine dining restaurant. Her patience is impressive — but her anticipation is even cuter.
The second I set the bowl down, she glances up, waiting for the cue — then dives in with focus and joy. Every bite looks like the best thing she’s ever tasted. It’s her daily moment of happiness, and watching her enjoy it never gets old.
Afterward, she always comes over, rests her head against my knee, and gives that soft, thankful look. It’s her way of saying, “That was perfect, human.”





