Last night we had steak for dinner. This is pretty rare event in our household, maybe once or twice a year we have steak. It was celebrated throughout the animal kingdom by Ray and Moonie (Hugo was outside and missed out). The minute that steak entered the house from the grill, Ray was there to greet it. He stood with his head jammed between Gregg and I as we dished up our meals, then followed us into the family room and hovered, nerve-wrackingly, with his nose at plate-level (we eat at the coffee table) while we got situated.
Meanwhile, Moonie, was trying to access our plates more directly by jumping on the table and sticking her head in our food. She is the original Terminator (the one that wouldn't die no matter how you killed it). Jump on table. Remove from table. Jump on table. Remove from table. Jump on table. Remove from table. Knock dog nose away from plate. Remove cat from table.
By the time we got Moonie her own plate with a tiny bit of steak on it (on the floor - not on the table) and got Ray up on the couch in his usual spot and had given him a tiny bite, our food was not quite as hot as it should be.
Unfortunately, Ray could not relax knowing that that steak was right in front of him. He did his best impression of Snoopy doing an impression of a vulture. He stood, looming, on the couch, his head hanging down toward our plates, his ears fully deployed in Dumbo mode. He looked ready to launch. It was more than a little unnerving.
By the time we got Ray to lay down and pretend that he wasn't noticing the steak anymore, Moonie was back for another bite. I gave her another tiny bit of my steak (it was only the size of the palm of my hand, I admit that I didn't want to share).
Finally, Moonie retreated, Ray went to sleep, and Gregg and I were able to eat in peace.
"Next time we have steak," he said, "We're going to Outback."
I felt compelled to agree.