I think my dog has finally matured into a full-fledged chowhound. We’re rubbing off on him.
A few weeks ago, he discovered the joys of catching drippings from the grill. I was doing some ribs, and my grease-cup runneth over.
“Hey, where’s the dog?”
And there he was, hunkered down under the grill, eagerly lapping up whatever dripped his way.
Fast-forward to last night. I was grilling up a pork loin, and it started to rain. My dog, as a rule, is loathe to go out in the rain. Hates it. Even treats don’t work. To walk him in the rain, you essentially have to drag him behind you, while he zig-zags around, trying to avoid any sort of contact with moisture.
So there I am, grilling, and Shiloh is watching intently, laying just on the threshold of the doorway. Then, he creeps out (into the rain) and very gingerly makes his way underneath the grill to try and
catch something tasty.
Such is the power of pork fat; it trumps my dog’s hatred of rain. I’m so proud!
