...or so they say.
Neither do greyhounds.
Sam is sprawled on his back here on the sofa, sound asleep. He's got his front legs stretched out, with his feet in my face. I can touch his right foot--wiggle his toenails, poke his toes, play with the joints--and he continues to sleep soundly.
Touch the scar on his left foot? His eyes snap open and he looks at me, all offended-like. He gives a big, huffy sigh, and rolls onto his side, with his feet safely out of my reach.
Oh, well. It's one way to get his feet out of my face. ;)