"Well, no," Brooke admitted after a long pause. "You don't seem very pet-like at all. But," she added, "I really wasn't sure what dietary restrictions you might have had, if any." She stood up, took the pizza, and marched it over to where she thought the trash can may have been.

It wasn't there, though.

Hmm.

She turned around, pizza still in hand, and managed to find the trash. Disposing of the failed pizza, she turned to the fridge and pulled out a hunk of roast beef, horseradish sauce, and bread from the pantry. Fine. Roast beef sandwiches would do, right?

She paused. Did turtles eat meat not from the ocean?

"Wait. Before I start making this," or trying to, really, considering Brooke's lack of talent in the kitchen, "do you eat beef?"