Prednisalone

Miqua: I've never really been interested in food before. Sure, there were the occasional episodes where someone would feed me peanut butter off the spoon, or dangle noodles in front of my nose, and I'd eat them, but it was never my passion. I would prefer to sit and look out the front door for passers by, rather than rush over for dinner.

This has all changed thanks to a little run in with cancer. Due to a little lump, I have started taking a drug called prednisalone.

Let me tell you, it does wonders for the appetite!

Cat food used to smell OK, but now - the rich fragrances! My mouth waters, my legs start taking me towards the smell while my brain is still in paralysed state of ecstasy! One dropped noodle is enough to make me move tables, chairs, even toddlers, so I can saviour the beautiful feeling on my tongue.

Now, I finally understand Fangio.

For all the years we have lived together, his ferocious appetite has been a mystery. I would watch with bemused detachment as pools of saliva appeared on the floor under his chin if people even went near the biscuit container.

Now, the same urges pull me from whatever it is that I happen to be doing, and I wait, and I watch the biscuits without blinking. If I have to I sit, I even sit quickly. I suppose change is good, but I still find it very strange.

Fond Memories of Sunday Morning

In our house, Sunday morning is often bacon rind morning. It's worth getting up early to secure a prime position under the most likely family member's chair. Some of our fondest memories are of sitting just below the breakfast table with our mouths at the ready for little morsels of bacon or ham that may drop at any moment.

Bacon is possibly the most exquisite delicacy known to dogkind. The overwhelming salt on the palate, complimented by that tang of smoke. Pig grease, making the edges crisp, sometimes even curled in the heat of cooking. There is nothing like the spattle of grease in the kitchen, it gets into your open nose, and we have to lick each other's faces, to savour the essential oils that are coating our fur.

Rubbed in a little egg yolk, bacon takes on a whole new character. When dropped by the generous children at the table above us, sometimes, even with hints of buttered toast, our palates are almost overwhelmed. From the floor, mixed with last night's dinner and some sand, nom, nom, nom.

We have found it worth licking at the floor for some time to gather up the last particles of taste and the senses are tantalised by the added texture small pieces of cut up paper or dried grass after the lawn has been mowed. These subtle flavours build up during the week after the floor has been vacuumed on Wednesday, and reach a crescendo by Sunday morning. After this, sadly, they often fade. It may have something to do with our tongue work, a thoroughly licked floor loses its bouquet.