Rations for Two

Halftime on the screen called for evening rations. I slipped down from the sofa cushions and marched into the kitchen. My dog padded behind me, claws ticking against the linoleum. At the base of the pantry cabinet, his heavy ceramic food bowl sat completely dry. I clamped my jaws onto the edge of a fresh bag of dry kibble tucked between the trash bin and the wall, digging my blunt hind legs into the floorboards to drag it forward. Tipped the bag sideways with a sharp shove of my shoulder. A clean cascade of crunchy brown pellets poured straight into the bowl, clattering loud and steady. He dug right in with a grateful grunt. A commander feeds his scout.