George seems to have a keener sense of smell than I thought.
We were just back from a walk and I was making an Americano in the kitchen. I put a new liver-flavored disc in his magic treat ball and set him to work on it. There is an almost constant stream of unpleasant sounds that he makes when working on the treat ball (not unlike when he's cleaning his nether regions), and as I was pressing the espresso, I realized he'd been silent for a while. I looked over and he was standing stone still, staring at one place on the floor at the base of the coffee table. I don't know how long he'd been standing there, but it must have been several minutes at least.
Given that his objet de l'obsession was about a foot away from his empty food bowl, I knew immediately what was going on. He sensed me looking at him, sat down where he stood and gave me a look that seemed to say, "Finally you noticed. Now will you come over and help me out?" Who could possibly resist?
I went over and knelt down on the area rug as George assumed a stance not unlike that of a cat who has detected the approach of a mouse. I scrunched down and looked under the table. Sure enough, a few inches under the bottom shelf - a mere speck of a shadow in the darkness - was one tiny piece of dry kibble. I extracted it, George eagerly wolfed it down - and went straight back to his treat ball with renewed contentment and focus. All of five minutes later, the little Falstaffian fellow was curled up and snoring in a way befitting a corpulent sexagenarian human counterpart.
Sweet dreams, little pug.
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P.S. And now with audio!
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