How I know I'm a jerk

I buy "special" treats for my dogs every once in a while. Then I hold them for days. Waiting for that "perfect" time to give it to them. Waiting... and waiting... until they will appreciate it the most. I don't like to give them their "special" treats when I'm not around because I want to watch them enjoy it and make it known that I am the reason they get to enjoy this precious sizzlin' bacon flavored goodness. I talk to them while they eat these treats, half expecting them to turn around and say "Damn, Jennifer, this is one great treat! It really does taste like bacon! Thanks so much!" But alas, they don't.

So, their special treats this time were these bones with a handle that makes it easier for the dogs to chew on. SWEAR TO GOD! It's got a footrest on it that props it right up to their little (ok not so little) puppy snouts. AJ has had these before and loves them, but this is Kirby's first.

Here's where crazy kicks in. I bought them on Saturday. It is now Tuesday evening and the dogs just got them. It isn't like these things are rare. I got them from HEB and they have them at Wal-Mart (though they are $2 cheaper at HEB). But, I wanted to wait until I charged my camera battery so I could photograph Kirby eating his first ever foot rest treat. Sadly, I never charged the camera and I realized I was going insane so I broke down and let the dogs have them. But not so easily. I talked to them about the treats for a good five minutes. Then cut a tiny hole in the package and waved the bacon-y scent in their faces for a couple more minutes, until they each had a nice long cord of drool coming out of each corner of their mouths. Finally, sweet relief....

three minutes later, AJ's is gone and now he's trying to kill Kirby to get his bone.

brats.

moral of the story: They are f-ing dog bones.