He started life abandoned beside a dumpster with his eleven siblings. By the time we found him at the DeKalb animal shelter, there were just two left - Scooter and a sister. (Scooter's name was "Purple" for reasons known only to the shelter staff.) Since his formative days were hunger-driven, Scooter forevermore became food-obsessed.
Pour a cup of dog kibble in his bowl, and it's gone in sixty seconds. Or less.
Drop something on the floor, and Scooter comes scrambling into the kitchen. His keen sense of hearing even catches the dull thud of a crumb on carpet.
Training was a breeze because Scooter could be convinced to do anything for a treat.
Above rawhide chews or kibble, the heel of a loaf of bread or a food scrap, Scooter loves peanut butter. He loves it stuffed in his Kong and surrounding his flea & heartworm medicine. Most of all, Scooter loves an empty peanut butter jar. He'll lick and nudge, sticking his entire snout into the plastic jar, straining to reach the few scant traces at the bottom. Once he's wiped it clean, he'll give it up reluctantly for the recycling bin.
I guess he comes by it honestly, because peanut butter is the food of choice for the entire Knitternall family. We eat peanut butter like crazy, in sandwiches, on spoons, in cakes and cookies, and on waffles with syrup. So Scooter's love of peanut butter is easily indulged. The trick is not letting him overdo it. We're not sure what would happen if we let Scooter eat all the peanut butter he wants, but I imagine a little bit goes a long way.
I'm making waffles for supper tonight. It seems like a great option for a rainy, cold evening. Scooter will follow my every move when he sees the peanut butter jar on the counter. But it's a new jar, so he's out of luck. Unless, of course, one of the kids has an "ooops."
"Uh, oh. I smeared some peanut butter on my spoon. By accident. Scooter, come here, boy!"
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