She sat by the counter like a tiny food critic, staring at the steak as if she understood exactly how it should be cooked. Her standards? Very high. Her patience? Very low. The moment the smell hit the air, she made her preference very clear.
Her eyes followed every step — the sizzle, the flip, the plate — all while she waited with that elegant Doberman poise. She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t beg; she just gives that look that says, “I deserve the good stuff.” And honestly… she’s right.
When she finally got her perfectly cooked little piece, she ate it with the quiet satisfaction of someone who knows she’s loved. Moments like that make her feel even more like family.
