When my son was about three days old, I was still figuring out breast-feeding—how to do it, where to do it.

One of my worries, though, was our big shaggy Disney dog Guinness and how she would react to the baby. Guinness was my girl. She looked more like me than my own child—same shaggy brown hair, same brown eyes. She was the center of our attention for the eight years we’d had her, so I even stupidly bought a muzzle imagining her unwelcoming reaction to the baby.

So in the middle of on a hot August night—did I mention my son was born on my favorite artist Kate Bush’s birthday, July 30?—not an easy feat to pull off but I’ll save that for another time. So the baby starts crying for a feeding. I picked him up and walked down the short hallway into the living room. Guinness groggily followed us. I sat down, and I kept the lights off because that just seems what the breast-feeding manual would tell you to do.

As I maneuvered him into latching-on position, I saw his dark purplish umbilical cord stump fall off of him like a pine needle off Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. I picked it up from the floor and put it on the coffee table, thinking I should save it—maybe motherhood would turn me into one of those crafty people who repurpose unused body pieces into jewelry or make their own sunscreen.

As I started to try and get him to latch on, I heard a sound… and I think you can figure out what that sound it was.

Chomp chomp chompity chomp chomp. Then the chomping stopped. And this was the moment that I had this truly incredible face-to-face human-to-animal moment. I always swore that dog could read my mind and I could read hers.

Guinness stood in front of me, giddy, bristling with excitement and sitting straight up like a teenager busting with big exciting news. She was trying to get her attention from me, still licking her lips. We locked eyes, and I knew what she was trying to tell me:

[Guinness voice]: “Okay. First of all, that was delicious. Are those things going to keep falling off of him like that? Because if that’s the case, then I am more than OK that you brought this thing into our home. So when do you think the next one will drop off of him? How does this work? I mean, I can wait, but that was absolutely the yummiest, most delectable treat I’ve ever had. Savory, luscious, piquant—is that a word?—and even a bit sweet!”

I’m sorry for Guinness that it was a limited, one-time only treat, but happy that from that moment on, she welcomed the baby and as he grew—she would let him sit on her, ride on her and the two of them were great buddies.

So it’s here I want to offer you $1 million business idea—for free. Call them Stumpy Yums. All you have to do is collect discarded umbilical cord stems from maternity wards, birthing centers and homes with newborn babies. Then, package them up in  fancy velvet-lined gift boxes tied with ribbon and sell them as Stumpy Yums to Beverly Hills housewives and the like as the ultimate dog treat for, say, $1000 an ounce.

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Libby Molyneaux is a writer now based in Portland, Oregon, who will forever tell people she’s from L.A., which she will always call home. She has won awards for headlines (anyone can) from the Los Angeles Press Club and was an editor and writer at LA Weekly for decades covering music and comedy. She saw Kate Bush live in 2014 and has yet to shut up about it. She can be reached at lmolyneaux@sbcglobal.net.