I knew something was amiss when two corgis greeted me at the door when I got home for lunch. Where in the world was Tristan? As I walked in the door, I heard it - an unmistakable rustling sound. I pushed open the laundry room door and there he was, head buried deep in the dog food bag, gobbling food as fast as he could. I dragged him out of the bag and brought him out with the other two to survey the "damage". Pooh-Bert looked pregnant. I mean this boy looked like he'd swallowed not one but two basketballs. Tristan, who is already on the chunky side, looked like he carried just one basketball. He also looked miffed that I'd stopped him from hogging as much food as Pooh-Bert. Buns, bless her little heart, looked just fine. She hadn't been able to muscle her way past the bigger piglets at the free-food trough. It was easy to figure out what happened. Their idiot mom (yours truly) hadn't closed the door all the way. Pooh worked the clip off and ate till he couldn't eat any more, which gave Tristan his opening. Believe me, if Tristan had been first, there wouldn't have been any for Pooh. Needless to say, I have two very miserable corgis who've pooped a weeks worth of food since noon and who won't get supper tonight. The SBDs they're emitting are bringing tears to my eyes as I write. It's going to be a loooong night. ;)