The Boss has been nagging me about my eating habits. He reckons the only beast he has ever seen devour food faster than me is a Grouper.
I've never seen a Grouper but The Boss reckons the big ones would swallow a strapping hound like myself in a single gulp and I wouldn't know what hit me. They pounce more or less like this.
He saw one last year up on the Montebello Islands - it was named Kodak because it swallowed a fisherman's camera. I would probably eat a camera too, if I was hungry enough, but I might let Kodak go first - here he is:
I was born, crawling all over my brothers and sisters to take all the milk from Queenie. After two days I was double the size of my little sister, Bella. As I should be.
When he lays my food down I kind of Hoover it up, the dry pellets first and then anything meaty. I can take a chicken leg in two bites and a wing in one gulp. He tries to slow me down by spreading the pellets around but I can suck them up, just like Kodak.
The thing is, I can never get quite enough food. The Boss starves me, which is what leads me to eat certain things I probably shouldn't - like plastic bags he's had the fish in. I get them out of the kitchen bin if he's silly enough to leave them there and they taste pretty good going down and I don't have to worry about it for a day or two.
Without wanting to go into details, I can't quite get them out the other end without a bit of help - and what good is The Boss if he can't do a simple thing like that for me? He's had to do it three times now and I can tell you, he doesn't like it - he gets that lock-jaw look like he wants to throttle me, but he knows I might run away with it still hanging out. What would the neighbours say? That he doesn't look after me? Which is true of course.
The trouble is, he wasn't here last week and I needed the Missus to do it for me. You won't believe the screaming that went on. The words she used about me made me blush. And I did think she pulled a little firmly in the end so I yelped - well, it's not the feeling you're after! Then she must have worried she'd damaged my innards because she gave me a pat - with her clean hand - and wandered off muttering under her breath.
The Boss gives me lectures about it - says a plastic bag can block everything in my stomach and kill me. But hey, a good dog never lets a chance go by. Woof!