He won’t eat without me. And I’m never here. I am starving this dog, the one that I’m feeding. I am working, I am making money, to buy things to eat for me. I am feeding this dog, feeding him his food, feeding him his food for money for me for my food, feeding him and he will not eat, because he won’t eat without me, and I’m never here, I’m always working, working for more money for more food for me.

He is a “Chow-Chow.” That kills me. I come back from working, from making the money for my food, and all his food — the food that I fed him — is still there, untouched, uneaten. I beg him — shouldn’t it be the other way around? — eat, eat! And he goes to sleep in the hall, looking skinnier than yesterday. I am getting worried, so worried I can’t eat.

So I go to the store. I put apples in the fridge. I bite one, let him smell it, see if he wants it — he doesn’t. He doesn’t eat. I feed him. I go to work, for money, for money for food for me.

On the way home I get Taco Bell. Taco Bell. And I bring it in and this dog finally seems to like me, finally eats, finally eats his dog food.

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