I'm typically an early riser, the first one up in our house. As such, one of my normal duties is, or was, rather, to feed the dogs and let them out. I would usually find Monte, our Boston Terrier, scratching at his kennel, desperate to head upstairs and have his breakfast. More than anything I've ever known, Monte loved to eat.
What he didn't like was being outside, so he would handle his business and come running up the stairs, begging to be lat back inside so that he could lick his bowl in the off chance that he missed a morsel. If he ever did, I never saw it, but that didn't stop him from looking anyway.
