Each to her own. Each to his own. Each to one’s own. We all have our taste.
Biscuit likes all wood pulp and paper products, from artificially manufactured to earth-grown, or as it is now called “sustainable.” The only thing is, when he is done shredding and consuming, it is no longer sustainable. He has taken an interest in the pansies that grew out of pots on our deck, eating both leaves and flowers. He recently ate half of the cover of a favorite author’s book, Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns. This is an excellent book. He wanted to sample it when no one was looking, so he did. Biscuit has good taste.
I observed that he was not as discerning when he was small. He ate gravel and small hard things. His palate has evolved somewhat. It isn’t as dangerous, at least in theory. Last night, he ate the blue tape you had put down to mark off measured boundaries for something you were contemplating.
You yell at me for pre-moistening shoes and socks. You yell at Biscuit for consuming his preferred diet.
Between the two of us, we keep you very busy. We both have very good taste. After all, we chose you.
Oliver’s Advice: There is no accounting for taste.