Not Michelin Rated

I had been doing a spot of Christmas shopping. (I hate shopping in general and Christmas shopping in specific but a body's got to do what a body's got to do.) It was 2:00, I still hadn't eaten lunch and I was more than a little hungry so, in a moment of lunacy, drove through a McDonalds and picked up two cheeseburgers. I thought I was hungrier than one cheeseburger, knew I wasn't as hungry as two, but since I was on my way home I figured I would just share my second cheeseburger with Ray.

When I arrived home, I was greeted at the front door. I got Ray's usual half-hearted tail-wag, the one that says "Oh, it's you again? I was hoping for someone better" but since I was carrying a sack of food, was then trailed by the hound into the kitchen.

Thinking I needed a laugh after my fruitless shopping expedition, I extracted a french fry ('chip' for the British contingent) and handed it to the Nose who was intently sniffing at the countertop where resided the sack. As expected, Ray, a dog of exquisite taste and sensibility, curled his lips back, took the fry gingerly between his teeth so that it could touch no part of his anatomy, and spat it contemptuously on the ground. I laughed.

I then took the remaining burger out of the bag, tore it in half, removed the bun, the pickle, and the ketchup and handed it to the dog. Ray, never having had a McDonalds cheeseburger before, took it suspiciously. Holding it in his teeth by one edge, he flapped it up and down a bit then, determining through the flapping process that it was indeed food, Ray let the cheeseburger enter his mouth. A great display of head bobbing and theatrical chewing ensued. At length, the small piece of burger was consumed. What passes for cheese, however, was expelled as a slimy glob onto the kitchen floor. The discriminating dog had spoken loudly without uttering a sound.