"Did I tell you I have cancer?" Nicholai often asks family and friends when they're consuming food. "Did you know that my days are numbered? Pitiful, isn't it?" By this time, a stream of clear saliva has dripped on the person's shoe. "A bite of your (fill in the blank – salad, scone, pizza, ice cream) would really help a terminal dog have a better day."
Nicholai may be a tad hungrier than before he had lymphoma. His increased appetite may be stimulated by the small dose of hydrocortisone he takes, or by cancer cells hungrily consuming extra calories. Whatever the case may be, the boy is not shy about communicating his urgent need for snacks.
I love the honesty of Nicholai; no hidden motivations just pure dog-drool straight into the lap. If that doesn't convince you, then a low whine – pleading and needy. If you're still reticent to share your meal, perhaps a nudge to the fork hand or a head on your thigh could persuade you to turn over some lunch to a poor old dog whose days are numbered.
Works on me every time.
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