“You had us worried, old pal, those days when food lingered in your dish far beyond the norm.”

—Oh, I’m okay. I was probably just suffering from a virus or whatever you humans have decided causes illness.

“Yeah, but you sure milked it for all the sympathy and biscuits you could muster.”

—A dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.

“I suppose.”

—Speaking of which . . .

“No way, you’ve already scored on the biscuit front.”

—I have?

“Yes, and I also notice that there’s still food in your dish.”

—I’ve discovered the advantage of being able to eat throughout the day.

“Oh really? How old are you anyway, and it took you this long to learn that gorging isn’t the best way to appreciate a meal?”

—I guess I’ve disproved that old human saying about teaching an old dog new tricks, which was always highly suspect anyway, I might add.

“Perhaps, but I remain skeptical.”

—What do you mean?

“I don’t know, maybe I think you’d wolf down your food regardless, if only you could manage, that maybe a virus, or, say a lump, is making it difficult for you to pursue old habits but you’ve been able to turn that into something advantageous.”

—Even so, it would be a new trick, right?

“I suppose, but you’re not going to tell me one way or another, are you?”

—I might be persuaded given the proper means of persuasion . . .

“Just as I thought: the old biscuit-loving dog remains, angling for as many treats as possible.”

—You’ll never know . . . but wouldn’t it be worth a paltry snack to see whether you can find out?

“And you’ll also never know . . .”

—Blast. Time for a nap, I guess.

“As I said: same old Lewis.”