Hedgehog Moss Farm

I went to the coop after dinner to give the chickens some scraps, and while they were running about shamelessly stealing food from one another, Pandolf stood next to us with a melancholy look, like The birds are happy. This looks really good. I wish I was a happy bird. So I scraped a bit of sauce off my plate onto a rock for him to lick. And he looked at it with interested ears but made no move towards the rock. I have not been invited to lick the rock. Maybe this is a food offering for a forest creature that comes out at night. I’m a good dog. I should have said “Bon appétit !” to deliver him from this doubt but I wanted to see what would happen if I scraped the last drops of sauce onto his paw. Well, he stared at his paw and tried very hard to figure out if he could lick it while still being a good dog. I have not been invited to eat! I know I own the food when I hear “Pandolf, bon appétit”. But this food is on Pandolf. On my paw. Surely I own the food that is on my paw? My own paw that I own. This smells true to me. Yes. And he proceeded to lie down and lick his paw happily.

If you enjoyed this book you should read every other book in the world for extra textual context. All things are intricately related to one another.