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| Chloe waits for the Chicken Train's early morning arrival |
As a dog of discerning taste and profound patience, my day begins not with the sun, but with the sacred, arrival of the "Chicken Train." My daily diet consists of crunchy kibble, a green bean or two, and the occasional carrot chunks. But these are mere supporting actors. The headliner, the star that outshines all others, is the Boiled Chicken!
It's not food; it's a silken, savory miracle. It’s a “nutritional supplement” I'm told. I don’t know what that means, but I know it makes my coat glossy and my tail wag with the force of a helicopter. It is, in my professional opinion, the reason us cockers are so cute!
Now, the delivery system is where the magic happens. The Chicken Train doesn't run on tracks. It is a metaphysical locomotive, powered by hope and the distant click-clack, of a fork on a stainless-steel bowl from the mysterious land called “Kitchen.”
My pacing begins at first light across the tiled floor. A loop around the coffee table. A hopeful stare down the hallway at my empty bowl on the station platform. Where is it? The schedule said dawn!
Then, I hear the distant rumble - the opening of the refrigerator door. My pacing intensifies. It’s coming! I can almost hear the whistle. All aboard the flavor express! I sit, quivering, at the precise spot where the bowl is always placed. My eyes are wide, unblinking saucers of devotion.
Finally, it arrives by divine teleportation! One moment the space is empty, the next… a small pile of shredded, moist, perfect poultry in my bowl. The Chicken Train has pulled into the station. I give it a polite sniff, for ceremony of course, then devour it with the grace of a vacuum cleaner!
My humans smile. “Chicken is good for you, Chloe,” they say. I don’t care about science. I care about the journey! Within less than a minute, my mission is accomplished, the chicken has gone from the bowl, to my tummy!
The profound exhaustion of my morning vigil hits me. I have paced. I have hoped. It’s exhausting work! With a contented sigh that smells faintly of chicken, I retire to my bed where I collapse into a deep slumber. The Chicken Train will run again tomorrow, and I’ll be at the station to greet its arrival!
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