Spelunker hero-worships R. He must recognize male to male and has bonded. The other day, as we ate, Spelunker sat at the table sedately not looking at the food, in one of the cloth barstools.
R mashed his baked potato and scraped buttered and gravied bits into a pile, then would eat them with relish. One he examined and set aside. "There's a white hair in there, Spelunker."
He yawned, not meeting R's eye.
Soon his plate was cleared except for a pile of skin and that offending bite. Although he'd assured me he was full, he proceeded to collect it once again on the end of his fork, then popped it quickly into his mouth.
I thought, "I didn't see him pick the hair out..."
"Isn't that the bite with the hair?" I inquired with trepidation.
A horrified look passed over R's face. "Blech, blech," he spit it back onto his plate.