I decided to pick the chicken off the bones of a roast we had a few days ago. I was standing at the kitchen counter when Rockwell was lured in by his nose. Here he is, crushing my toes with his elbow.

I call this one “startled out of a food reverie” by the flash of the camera.

Waiting, waiting.

He was in motion for this last shot, having circled around to see if he missed anything and thinking he spotted something on the floor.

Although he gets no treats and no human food at all, he still knows what smells good. I am pretty careful not to drop food on the floor but he lies there nonetheless, licking the floor and getting some satisfaction at a molecular level. I was reminded then of the dogs in paintings of English noblemen, faithful beasts lying at their master’s feet and suddenly thought, they’re not faithful at all. Their masters were just sloppy eaters and the dogs were in it for the scraps.