Did you ever see a dog discover a marrow bone? If ever you did, you will have noticed how devotedly he eyes it, how carefully he guards it, how fervently he holds it, how circumspectly he begins to gnaw it, how lovingly he breaks it, and how digently he licks it, What induces him to do all this? What hope is there in his labour? What benefit does he expect? Nothing more than a little marrow. It is true that this little is more delicious than great quantities of any other meat.
Rabelais...translation 1955.
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When I read this account of a dog and his bone, I was amazed how the words immediately conjured up a vivid picture of all the dogs I'd seen with their bones.
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