On Wanting to Be Fed at 3:30 But the Humans Say it's Too Early

I, Poppy, am frustrated by my empty bowl. Therefore, I kick it around a little, so that it makes an obnoxious scraping sound on the floor. (Actually, it is Duncan's bowl, but it is synonymous with my bowl, so the symbolism still works regardless of which prop I use to stage my drama). Then, I give two, short, high pitched barks. When no one responds appropriately, I repeat the action, but with more urgency. My mommy turns to look at me. I look into her eyes meaningfully. My mouth is set, my forehead furrowed. She must see my desperation. She must be moved by my determination. My exasperation only increases when Mommy ignores my direct order. Such insubordination on the part of one whom I wish to control so thoroughly (she has thumbs and height enough to reach the treat jar -- she is so necessary to my ultimate plan for Total Kitchen Domination) only increases the frequency and pitch of my barking. The creases in my forehead deepen. Then she has the audacity to say, "Dogs don't eat until five around here." She walks out of the room. I, Poppy, remain unfed while some how being fed up.