In my house, we buy pickles in the gallon size jar.
In my house, I have to limit everyone to ONE pickle a day. When the kids were younger, if they misbehaved, they lost their pickle for the day and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when that happened, let me tell you.
When Katie was a baby we couldn't get her to crawl until we held a pickle out in front of her like a rabbit for her to chase. If the kids go with me to the grocery store, I am not allowed to pick the jar of pickles because I just take the closest one rather than examining every jar on the shelf to determine which jar holds the largest pickles.
The kids get this manic love of pickles from their father. When he was a teen, his parents gave him a giant ten gallon glass jar of pickles like you see in a deli as a Christmas gift because he loved pickles so much. When he gets a nice big pickle, he savors it and makes it last about twenty minutes (yes, I've timed him). This is polar opposite to the way he will chug a glass of chocolate milk in five seconds or chew a piece of gum for approximately forty seconds before discarding it for a new piece (his friends timed him on that one). When he gets hold of a pickle, he doesn't eat it so much as he loves it to death.
Case in point: I came home with a brand new jar of pickles last night just as Kerry was getting ready to go work out. He twisted and turned the jar every which way to decide which pickle would be his upon his return. He pointed it out to everyone and declared it off limits as it was HIS pickle.
Then upon further consideration, the fear that someone else would get HIS pickle was just too much. He fished the pickle out of the jar, put it in a plastic cup, poured pickle juice over it, and hid it in the refrigerator to keep anyone else from getting it.
Now THAT'S Pickle Dedication.