I'm watching the place of a friend of mine this week while she's out of town. Her usual kennel went out of business when she wasn't looking, and since her dogs already know me I was next in line.
The older dog, C.J., recently had surgery, and I must give her two stinky pills morning and night. Rather than using meat as a delivery system, I'm feeding them to her in globs of peanut butter, which she seems to like.
The other dog, Amber, weighs sixty pounds -- and doesn't bark when she's excited, but bounces up and down on all fours, putting me in mind of a giddy Herman Munster. She always wants to know what I'm up to as I give C.J. her pills, so I've taken to feeding Amber some extra peanut butter when I'm finished. Amber is very slow and careful when taking it from my fingers; from the look on her face she's obviously having some sort of moral dilemma about eating what she's offered while not biting the finger I've stuck in her mouth.
She is becoming less ginger about it lately, which means she's either learning a good thing (that I can be trusted), or a bad thing (that humans are composed entirely of peanut butter). Time will tell.