Meet Smidgin
Good day. I’m Smidgin.
Yes, that Smidgin—the 10-pound executive currently running this operation while the humans pretend it was their idea.
Officially, I am a Miniature Schnauzer. Unofficially, I’m the Chief Eating Officer, Head of Treat Inspection, and Director of Unreasonable Standards. I did not merely “inspire” this company. I audited it into existence—one sniff, one bite, and several deeply judgmental stares at sub-par snacks.
If you live with a dog who refuses cheap biscuits, negotiates with their eyes, and will only perform basic obedience in exchange for something truly magnificent, then you and I are spiritually related.
My personality in a nutshell
Contrary to rumours, I am not “cute and compliant.” I am “cute and in charge of everything important.”
I am fiercely loyal to my people, strategically stubborn, and obsessively focused on quality. Sloppy sit? No. Bland treat? Absolutely not. I am living proof that excellence comes from consistency, motivation, and proper compensation in meat, not from half-hearted bribes and dry kibble.
Once the serious business of training and treat evaluation is complete, I do allow cuddling. I will curl up, sigh dramatically, and appear relaxed—but rest assured, I am still evaluating your performance.
Very little, frankly, passes.
Why I rep the beef (and Drool-Approve it)
In a previous life, I was a Rally star, Agility queen, and Barn Hunt enthusiast—which is a polite way of saying I ran very fast, made clever choices, and looked fabulous doing it. Such a life demands proper fuel.
Beef provides precisely that: it smells right, tastes right, and convinces me to repeat the same behaviour multiple times without filing a complaint. Pizzles, in particular, are a sort of chewy miracle. Beef is bold, reliable, and does not require interpretive dance or glitter to prove its worth.
If my name is attached to a protein, it’s because it survived rigorous testing. Beef did. It is, therefore, Drool approved.
My treat and chew expectations
Let us be clear: if you want effort, focus, and follow-through, you cannot pay in crumbs and broken promises.
Minimum acceptable standards:
- Open the bag, treat is ready. This is not advanced chemistry.
- Real, human-grade meat, not mystery dust.
- Small enough pieces for repeated rewarding (you’re going to need them).
- Strong scent and flavour to outcompete doorbells, squirrels, and your snacks.
- Chews that last long enough for me to feel mildly accomplished.
No powders. No mixing. No “just a little sprinkle.” That is not a treat; that is an insult.
Life with my people (and my staff)
I am technically retired from full-time dog sports, which means I now focus on executive work: overseeing operations, conducting surprise inspections, and ensuring that product samples mysteriously disappear at an entirely reasonable rate.
My humans and I have a standing agreement: they provide excellence (and beef), and I provide loyalty, entertainment, and brutally honest feedback. It seems to work for everyone.
If you’re still reading, you’re clearly one of the clever ones
You didn’t just grab a bag and shuffle away. You scanned a code. You investigated. You sought deeper meaning in dog treats. Frankly, that’s impressive.
As a quiet reward, you may wish to remember the phrase BEEFMEANSBUSINESS. It might just unlock 20% off anything beef-based the next time you stock up. No fanfare. No confetti. Just a discreet little nod from your favourite 10-pound executive.
You and your dog have earned it.
Smidgin
Chief Eating Officer.
Final say on what’s actually worth rewarding.