My sister is slowly driving me to madness. Not just in her usual ways of getting me stirred up by needlessly barking, or taking my spot on Mama's lap. Since she got her teeth out, she's eating so slowly that I can't stand waiting for her.
We both dine twice a day in the living room. I eat out of a bowl she eats off of a plate. I begin inhaling my food as soon as my bowl is put down. Pocket walks around her plate like she has discovered an ancient fossil. After a bit of coaxing from my parents, she begins to eat. Meanwhile, I am halfway through my food.
This is how I eat: slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp. This is how Pocket eats her food. Sniff, sniff, bite one kibble, drop it, bite another kibble, drop it, pick it up, chew, chew, chew and swallow. Only another 10,000 kibbles to go.
You may wonder why I care about how long it takes for my sister to eat. It ‘s because I get her leftovers. With every kibble, she bites I think she's full. She noses around a few around the plate, begins to walk away, comes back, and eats another one. It makes me go AAAARGH.
Humans don't understand. It’s like being at a restaurant waiting for a table while some old biddy eats her salad bit by bit. And you have to sit next to her at the table. And it's your favorite salad. And if she eats all of it you don't get any. And the salad is full of meat. It's torture.
And the worst part is if Pocket doesn't eat enough food I still don't get any. “That's too much for you River,” Mommy says eyeing the leftovers. Would it be too much to ask for someone to separate a little bit for me?
I am rooting Pocket on for the first 80% of her dinner. During the last 20%, I pray she is finished.
Watching her slowly make her way through the last few kibbles is unbearable. She might have ten left then a minute later nine then a couple of minutes later eight. With each bite, hope is drained. The sound of the final kibble being crunched in her mouth is devastating.
Pocket can even wear out my parents' infinite patience. When they have somewhere to be, or just want to get on with the rest of their lives, and there are less than 20 kibbles left they will split them into two piles. They scoot the kibbles on the floor towards both of us. I realize that I am running after kibble and eating it off the floor. If you wanted a pet with dignity, get a cat
Sometimes I am fortunate to sneak away with a kibble intended for Pocket. That is a triumph.
A couple of times a week it works out splendidly. Pocket finishes her food with the right amount left. The plate is slid to me, and I devour the remains. On days like that, it makes a living with these two people and their crazy little dog worth it.