Otis and the okra

We know, we know. We're terrible pet parents. We fell into a bad habit, and now we can't recover.
What's the problem, you ask?
(tone drops to a conspiratorial whisper)
We let Otis eat people food.
There. I said it. It's out in the open. Nothing to see here, people. Just keep moving.
Well, except there is the matter of what Otis eats.
For those who don't know, Otis is a "rescue" D-O-G (we spell it because it hurts his feelings if we say it -- and yes, I know he can't read). He was "liberated" from some neglectful neighbors by a former co-worker of mine, who brought him to the office to find him a home. Her dogs were HUGE and would have squashed him like a bug.
Two hours of looking at those sad eyes and that sweet face, and I gave in. He got a new name -- Otis Campbell, after the character on "The Andy Griffin Show" -- and a new home.
As for his lineage, we're not sure. He's at least part long-hair Chihuahua, possibly with some Pomeranian thrown in. He's a golden blond, but he sheds a lot, so we keep him clipped in the summer.
Back to his diet. We tried dry D-O-G food. Then we tried a parade of wet foods. But one thing became clear: If we ate it, he wanted it.
I know some pet parents who probably would try eating the D-O-G food to get him to eat it. I'm not one of them.
So, as the years have passed (three, at least), we just fell into the habit of feeding Otis what we're eating.
We've been surprised at what he won't eat. He doesn't like scrambled eggs, and he looks insulted if you offer him gravy biscuits.
We have been equally taken aback at what he does eat. This includes salad — he's partial to the grilled chicken Caesar from McDonald's — and frosted shredded wheat cereal.
Last night, though, takes the cake, so to speak.
Hubby cooked up some squash with onions, opened some Glory collard greens and reheated a pan of chicken dressing from Grandmother. The crowning glory was supposed to be the okra he grew in our little garden, boiled and lightly salted.
Sadly, most of the okra was so tough we couldn't chew it. Otis, however, fared much better. I noticed him pick up something and take it aside to eat, so I started watching to make sure he wasn't trying to stash a treat for later. I nearly fell over when I realized he was munching okra.
He polished off one pod and headed for another. This time, he figured out a way to split open the pod and lick the inside clean before eating the outside.
One by one, he ate a dozen or so pods. He rounded off his supper with some squash and onions and a dab of collards, then washed it down with some water. He was quite satisfied until I blurted out, "Have you ever seen a dog eat okra?!?"
Wounded, he slunk off to the living room and pouted until we cleared the table and mopped the floor.
I think it was just his way of shirking his turn at washing dishes.