That's right, I went there.

I thought we had something, Boberino. You can just go ahead and eat that bowl of dirt.

Bailey Shmailey

And that's all I have to say about that.

Snacktime Tutorial 101

Now, misunderstand not: I love my native land of Georgia, "Mother Georgia" as I call her, but there are things to be said for this New World I have conquered to the north. Yes, yes, the indigenous people are a bit too fond of plaid flannel and all things related to hockey, but I believe they can be taught to love and fear me as they should. As long as they keep dropping food, I believe we can work out a suitable arrangement.

Preface aside, everyone sit down and be quiet, for class shall begin momentarily. Please wait a moment while I lick this interesting thing on the floor that you, mere human, cannot see. And...finished. You in the back, pipe down! Silence!

LESSON #1: Cities are good for snacks. And when I say "snacks," I mean "things that one can eat straight off the sidewalk." Case in point: just today, I encountered a pile of what appeared to be Lucky Charms on the concrete, fortuitously placed near a crosswalk where we conveniently stopped to wait for the light to change. Anne-Marie attempted to wrench me away from the aforementioned pile of sugar-laden General Mills goodness, but she was duped (hah!) by the short leash she kids herself is reigning me in. Please, I use such "fetters" to my advantage. When will they ever learn?

LESSON #2: Strategically plan your route. Oh sure, sylvan walks in parks of rolling hills are great, but if there aren't hotdog vendors placed at close intervals throughout the place, kiss your chances of epicurean grazing goodbye. Therefore, I enjoy urban centers most for the plethora of opportunities and variety. On Bloor Street alone, I move from falafel to Indian to Thai to Italian in fewer than two or three blocks. I had to unbelievable fortune to stroll through Chinatown last weekend, and I was in snacktime heaven (dumplings, my God, the dumplings!) until Anne-Marie decided she'd play Joan of Arc and pick me up "for fear of me getting pancaked by ladies with shopping carts." Honestly.

LESSON #3: Leave no styrofoam container unsniffed. I am fully aware that dogs' cognitive capabilities put Stephen Hawking's to shame, but I even surprised myself with the speed at which I learned that those white containers more often than not contain goodies of every kind. Oh sure, some of it has been out on the concrete for awhile, but I never eat steaks that are aged fewer than 4 months.

LESSON #4: Know your allies. As my final bestowal of wisdom, I choose to emphasize this most important element of snacking. While strolling Queen Street on a Sunday morning, I happened upon a goldmine for snack hunters: a whole hamburger patty. Savoring it joyously, I could not help but let the sounds of pleasure escape from my lips, only to alert Anne-Marie and ignite her insane jealousy. Ravenous for a taste, clawing at my prize, shouting, "Put it down. PUT. IT. DOWN!" she attempted to wrest this gem from my mouth, but a group of homeless gentlemen sitting on a stoop nearby began to cackle at her feeble attack. As her cheeks colored to a tomato red, I could tell her spirit was lost, and I chewed on in glee. The matter was made still worse for her when one of the gentlemen offered her a napkin, which she reached for, and then he yanked it away, and the group of vagrants laughed some more. Fellow comrades, you shall not be forgotten.

That's it, my pupils. Office hours are as posted on my office door, and do not forget that your 15-page essays are due in precisely one week. I bid you adieu.