I took my brother's boisterous and rather dim-witted chameleon - Schubert - into the garden at the weekend for a dose of sunshine. I turned my head away for one second. When I resumed my vigil he was eating a butterfly.

You could have submitted 'Food for Cats' to Popropriation (their segment on changing the lyrics of popular songs to refer to daily habits).

[Thread hijack: I really wish they were still doing their 'Eggcorns' feature because today at work I got a great invitation to a local community event happening next week: "SCHOOL CHILDREN PAINTING MURIEL". And no, I'm not joking.]

At the age of 55, I got my first ever dog (6 week old boxer pup) 10 days ago.

She is gorgeous, as cute as a button, & Carol & I both love her to bits.

Feeding her is not any serious bother up to now, but the other end, OMG (as my youngest would put it), how can such a tiny thing shite so much?

My parents used to have a small Jack Russell terrier, and a budgie. The dog was a moody litle beggar, apt to snarl and growl if he thought he was being ordered about. I've no idea what the budgie's temprement was. Metaphysical solipsism, at a guess.

Anyway, every evening the following ritual would play out:
My dad would say to the dog: "Time for bye-byes."
The dog would emit a low growl, and hunch down by the TV.
Mum would then cover up the budgie cage.
"Bobby Budgie's going to bye-byes" my dad would say, reprovingly.
The dog would immediately stop growling, get up and go through to his basket in the kitchen.

My friends used to come around, just to watch this.

In the morning it always had a drink of tea and 4 Spiller's Shape biscuits, one of each. You couldn't just put them in her bowl, if you did the dog would ignore them and give you a confused look. You had to put them all in except the round one which had to be thrown for her to chase after. Then you had to try and get it from her while she tried to get back to her basket. Once there she would growl, eat the biscuit and then go and eat the others o
ut of the bowl.

...when I'm giving my pair of moggies their Sunday treat of tinned tuna, I'm given to intoning "Tunatuna" at them, in the manner of Massive Attack's "Karmacoma".

OK, I'll get my coat, too...

My two Weimaraners were toilet trained to the command 'hurry up'. So last thing at night they are instructed to go out for a wee to the command of Hurry Up sung to the refrain of My Boy Lollipop.

Great thread... much weight being lifted from the Massives shoulders I feel.

except for fish, and they just swim up to the corner of the tank where I feed them, as soon as the light is turned on.
But growing up in the surburbs the people at the end of our cul-de-sac had a cat called Moltas. Every night they would call the cat home for dinner by loud melodic shouts of "Mollegubben, kom hem och ät" ( Swedish for approx. "Molleboy, come home to eat" ).
My brother and I ( and any other kids hearing this ) would immediately mimic these shouts and add on more and more ridiculous summons and sillier and sillier nicknames for this poor cat.
These neighbours didn't like us much.
But they had even less love for the family of a friend of mine living close by, and absolutely no fond feelings whatsoever for their cat. When Moltas was run over by a car they went over to my friends' house to complain that their cat was responsible because he had tought Moltas how to cross the road...!

"Feed The Dog, Let her know its dinnertime" sung to the tune of 'Do They Know Its Christmas'

My "dog feeding song" has always been Rat in the kitchen by UB40. I sing (ahem) "there's a dog in the kitchen what am I gonna do - i'm gonna feed that dog is what i'm gonna do - I'm gonna feed that dog".
Well, Holly seems to like it :)

when one of our cats Hoagy was a kitten, he would always run around me and throw himself to ground after I got up and was making my way to the kitchen for the morning feed.

To avoid this major tripping hazard I started picking him up and carrying him to the kitchen.

Now an adult, he comes into the bedroom, often well before my get up time, meows jumps on the bed, throws himself against me then jumps off the bed when I finally get up and once again throws himself down so that I will pick him up and carry him. There may still be food there in the kitchen, but he won't eat it until I've put him down. He'll eat some leftovers from one bowl while I clean the bowl, then gobble down the fresh food when it arrives.

is occasionally treated to me singing "Lip Up Fatty" when I put her food down for her. The alternative is "Hey Fatty Puss Puss, Sweet Sugar Dumpling". She ignores me once the bowl is down.