Fawski Raised Pet Feeders from Corian, Hardwoods and Stainless Steel

September 1, 2004

Hi, Uther Pendragon here.  I usually keep my nose out of the business, but sometimes I venture downstairs if I suspect master has missed a treat or a meal, but it isnít my favorite place cause it hurts my ears and the stuff sticks to my fur.  More importantly, thatís where the grooming table and bathtub are located.  I can do without both. With that said, master twisted my paw to contribute to the effort.  You see, keyboarding is not one of my strengths, but he mentioned that it could mean extra grub in my bowl, so here goes. 

Whatever he may have told you otherwise, hereís the real scoop on how the Fawski Feeder came to be.  Not long after I arrived as a puppy eight plus years ago, this great smelling chick shows up.  Her name is Lacey.  Since she was a year older than me and bossed me around, I quickly concluded that she must be my Mother.  I became very attached to her.  For the next three years we were inseparable, but then something very bad happened.  I recall often driving to Philadelphia to visit her at the animal hospital before she went away.  She was my mentor and my best friend.  I often see master talking to her picture that hangs in the bookroom of our house.  He doesnít know, but I sneak a peek from time to time myself.  That was many baths ago. Since then, Norma Jean and now Morgan le Fay have entered my life.  But, enough history, letís talk feeders.  After all, thatís what I know best. 

Before Lacey showed up, I was pushing my steel puppy bowls around the kitchen floor, getting more frustrated when they wouldnít hold still and my neck hurt to boot.  Since I was a puppy, I figured it must be bad technique.  But, you know what?  When Lacey got here, she had the very same gripes.  Besides, we watched the masters eat off this fancy wooden raised table and they didnít have to bend over.  Enough was enough.  Although heís a bit thick, following some subtle Newfie prodding, one day he shows up with the wooden measuring stick, holding my bowl under my chin. The rest is history.  Not only were Lacey and I eating in class, but with ease, to boot.  No more throwing up our necks to get grub and water down and the bowls stayed put.  That was about a zillion meals ago.  Now, you couldnít pry our paws from our Fawski Feeders.  On the downside, however, it sure seems to Morgan and me that thereís never enough in the feeders and they get empty too fast.

Maybe Iíll write again if master comes through with the extra grub and you want to hear more?

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