Her name was Valentine. Very much my dog despite claims by other family members!
Valentine, amongst other adorable behaviors, would carry her dinner plate and place it in your lap. She’d then sit down and look up at you with such sad, imploring eyes, as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks. (Really, the sweetest animal I ever met.) You were, of course, supposed to put a tidbit on her plate. Once you did, she carefully removed the plate from you lap, placed it on the floor, and gobbled it up. Then she’d pick it up and do the same with the next person, going round and round the table until she had her fill.
(If you didn’t put a snack on her plate after a time, that was ok. She’d just carefully remove the plate and go to the next person.)
When she didn’t have a plate, she had a different strategy. She’d find something she thought you valued and would place that in your lap. At a dinner party with about a dozen guests, people in my father’s profession that he either did business with or wanted to do business with, Val was all happy. She found something she thought my dad would like. A pair of my mother’s underwear straight from the laundry pile. My dad held it up, smiled, and there was chuckles and guffaws all round. Val got her tidbit, of course.
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