Timber the Chewie Whore

There's no polite way to put it. I have discovered that Timber the samoyed is a chewie whore.

I've been feeling quite under the weather lately and, as a result, have been spending as much time huddled under the covers as time will allow. Last night was no exception. I was feeling rather sorry for myself when Timber, uncharacteristically, jumped onto the bed and crawled his way across it until he was snuggled up next to me, his head under my arm. "Awww", I thought. Timber understands that I'm not feeling well and is trying in his doggy way to do what he can. I'm so naive. However, I'm not to be blamed, because Timber was demonstrating a level of subtly formally unknown to him.

As I gave him scritches, he turned himself over onto his back, stretching himself with little grunts and groans. Ok, this was pushing it, even for Timber. He has a massive coat and usually finds about 2 minutes on the bed more than he can handle before he gets too warm. Then a lightbulb, albeit a dim one, went on above my head. Toby was on the floor beside us, chewing on a piece of rawhide he'd managed to scrounge somewhere in the house. Timber didn't have one. Timber kept shooting glances at Toby whilst nudging me yet again. Darn it. In no way was my dog acting on his Lassie-like need to succor an ailing loved one. He just wanted a flippin' chewie! To test my theory I said, "Chewie?" Off the bed in a flash, I found him in the kitchen sitting eagerly next to the pantry door where said chewies are stored. Nice. My dog has learned to prostitute himself for treats.