Humans are, for the most part, a benign lot. They feed us, they walk us, they pet us. But there are times when our beloved humans simply—and I’ll come right out and say it—torture us. For me, it mostly happens around food.

My alpha female will fill our living space with wonderful smells: cooked animal parts from the land, sea and air. She’ll offer a taste to her human friends, but for her dog? Nothing. Nada. I’m invisible. The scent is overwhelming. I’m drooling so much I make a little puddle on the ground and still she ignores me. Unless I get too close. Then I get thrown out of the room.

At dinner, I know my table manners. I curl up quietly next to the table, trying to ignore the smells, until I hear the sound of metal against plate begin to subside. That’s my cue. I start my rounds, trying to make eye contact with each human at the table. Do they pay attention to me? No. They talk. They laugh in their oh-so-human way. They drink from their cups. And they leave food on their plates, a nose-length away. So I wait. And I wait. I begin to yawn that special, “hey, remember me?” yawn. Nothing works. And so I give up and find a couch to lie on.

Has your human ever driven you to a place where they pass food right through the window? My human gives them nothing—a scrap of paper—and they give him food! But does he pass it on to me? No. He eats it right there in front of me. I’m sitting next to him soaking the seat with drool—I could take his food and half his arm in one bite—and he just looks at me and smiles. And keeps eating! Even worse, when he’s done he hands me a scrap of bun.

Thought for the month: One taste of a bun doth not a meal make.