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"No."
"I could give him a bite from my plate."
"He does this every time." A stern look with an arched brow was given to Max. The dog's nose was on Alexander's abdomen, amidst his arms that held the bowl with the delicious pasta. "You are not getting any. Go eat your food."
Max's eyes got bigger, begging with a whine as he climbed further up.
"I don't think you'll be winning that fight." It had been fifteen minutes, few bites remaining from her dish, while her host had sneaked one mouthful before the canine rushed on him, demanding his share.
"Sit." He ordered, and the hind legs on his thighs buckled but straightened right after.
That is some determination.
"I am already full." She reasoned.
"Sit, Max!"
No buckle at all. The dog only blinked at him.
"Max, I swear-"
Woof.
"Why did I even bother training you?"
Woof.
A giggle from her produced a sigh from Alexander, and a frantically moving tail from Max that caused strands of his fur to get stuck in the sauce.
"Alright, have it then!" He put the bowl down, Max leaving him be and gulping down the contents instantly. "But I am taking you to the vet tomorrow out of spite."
"Perhaps you should have cooked more." Rose sipped her favorite wine, laughing at the dog licking his snout, the dish spotless. He did it looking Alexander in the eye, as if to aggravate him more.
"Or he could listen for once, like a normal dog."
"Every animal has its own personality." She caressed Max as he stuck his head on her lap, sniffing her plate. "Do you want this, too?" Unlike before, he drew away from the offered snack, and watched his owner sitting by her. "I think he is full."
"I think he'll be on a very strict diet come morning." Alexander glared at the giant fur-ball that was lulling its lids, ready for a nap on her knees.
She swirled the six pieces of penne, coating them with the sauce, and passed the plate to him. "Here. I really am done, and you barely had any. You must be hungry."
"I would have had some if it wasn't for -"
"Wasting your breath. He's already snoring." She wore a look of sympathy.
"Of course he is." He made the trip to the kitchen, clearing the bowls in the sink.
She had to gulp some alcohol to suppress the laughter threatening to escape. That dog could break every ounce of Alexander's patience, and she had a feeling that there was nothing else in the world that had the power to do it. He was reserved, collected. Sure, his mood tended to shift, she had gathered, but she could not picture him losing control. Not truly.
