I thinks

These are the very creatively titled (/s) toasting forks and they look metal as hell for the purpose they serve

You might notice that the tips are bent upwards, which is actually not for inflicting more pain when tormenting the souls of the damned but rather because the bread goes on them like so

A combination of the aforementioned executive dysfunction + some appetite issues caused by my ADHD meds made it difficult for me to consistently make and eat a meal in the middle of the day, which usually caused me to put off lunch until I crashed out somewhere between 2-5PM with a wave of that so-hungry-I’m-nauseous feeling. Toby’s solution to this was to start bothering me every workday at around 10:50 (I work from home) and not chill out until I’ve at least TRIED to have lunch. If I sat down to eat but then got distracted by something on my phone for too long without taking a bite, he’d get upset about that, too. But I recently realized that he no longer bothers me about lunch. He’ll happily snooze through the day. I wondered why, until I remembered that a few months ago, I took some steps to address the root causes of this problem, which has resulted in me eating a proper balanced lunch consistently. He stopped reminding me because he trusts his big two-legged puppy to reliably feed herself now.

The three of us make the trip out to visit my parents for dinner about every other Saturday, always aiming to leave the house at 3:15, but lately, I keep underestimating how long it will take me to get ready and pull together everything we need to take with us, so I’ve ended up stressed and rushing out the door late. This past Saturday afternoon, after lunch, Toby was being all snuggly with me on the couch. I hadn’t planned on taking a nap, but he is very persuasive, so I dozed off without really thinking it through or setting an alarm. Meanwhile, Partner was totally engrossed in painting miniatures in the other room and did not have a timer set, either. To you, dear reader, this situation should have all the hallmarks of a looming disaster, and evidently, Toby shared that view even while asleep with his little pool-ball-sized head resting on my calf. I awoke some time later to him standing on my chest, stomping his foot, doing spins, and making those gentle little huff sounds that are not startling but will progress to loud whining if ignored. I checked my watch; 2:50PM. This dog woke me up at precisely the right moment to ensure I could get ready and leave on time without stressing—but wait, it gets better. Even after I’d gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and started to get ready, Toby still wouldn’t settle down. I tried taking him out, thinking he must need to go, but he just wanted to bark at passerby. I brought him back in, catching my partner’s attention, and we shared a laugh for how our little lying rascal woke me up right on time, after which Partner stood up from his painting and went to get dressed, too. Only then did Toby settle down. It wasn’t until we were driving home later that I figured it out: Toby did wake me up at just the right time on purpose, but he wasn’t satisfied until he saw me talk to Partner and Partner start taking steps to get ready, too.

Toby watched me cook my lunch, sit down, and eat it without ever going back into the bedroom to take my pill. I presumably also smelled different to him, or my heart rate was lower, or whatever other combination of doggy-detectable signals would suggest I had forgotten to do the thing I always do. And he did not hesitate to let me know he had a problem with that.

Before I was even finished eating, he came and sat beside me and stared at me very intently—not like he does when he’s begging for a nibble, but like he does when he’s trying to tell me something. I asked him what was wrong, and he did his little inside-voice “woof” and spun in a circle (the cue we taught him for “I need to go outside.”) He doesn’t normally need to go in the middle of the day, but he just wouldn’t settle down, so I humored him and took him out anyway. Once we were out there, he just stared at me and kept spinning, which made no sense. I brought him back in, developed a hypothesis, and walked into the bedroom with him on my heels. Picked up the pill bottle and showed it to him. Then I pretended to take one, even washing it down with a little water, and washed my hands after like I always do. Finally, I turned to him and asked, “Happy?”