The only thing Bao likes better than his dinner is my dinner.

When I take a steak or a couple of chops out of the freezer so they can defrost, he camps out on the kitchen floor to await further developments. And once he knows there's steak (or chops) in the offing he immediately loses all interest in his own grilled chicken breast. Even if I'm having chicken too, he'd rather eat mine than his.

I've tried feeding him early, before I start preparing my own dinner, but that doesn't work. Bao won't touch a bite of what's in his bowl until he's seen (and sampled) what's on my plate. Sometimes it's something he doesn't like at all -- fish, for instance. Doesn't matter. It's only after he's sniffed it and rejected it that he'll return to his chicken. And he is continually refining his pallette. Just recently, he developed a taste for salmon.

I've also tried defrosting things overnight, in the refrigerator. That doesn't work, either. Somehow, Bao knows. I don't know how he knows, but he does. Maybe he's psychic. Maybe he's reading my mind. I wonder if I could teach him how to pick a winning lottery number.