I have a knife or spoon in my hand. He knows my antique electric (is that an oxymoron?) knife will make some random moves and throw a helping or two his way. He stands with his head between my legs to catch the kernels as they fall on his snout. 
He slurps and licks and my kitchen floor is as clean as a whistle when he's done. The green beans and tomatoes? Not so much. And if he looks at me saying "More, please?" he knows I'll throw him an ear of corn all his own. Golden gems for a puppy in his golden years. I have to be careful, though, because he's terrified of the silks! I guess that's the weiner in my little corn dog. Iowa State Fair's got nothing on my corn dog!Tea today: Young Hyson
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