On Dogs and Food

The first of the three requirements of dogs is food.  Pretty obvious I know but worth considering.  If you didn't feed your dog you'd be a grade A asshole.  But it's also interesting to consider a dog's attitude towards food.  My dog would eat a filet mignon with as much gusto as she would scarf some mystery organ from a gut pile.  When she is hungry she eats and asks no questions about it.  There are no moral considerations such as; is this food mine; is this food local, fresh or cruelty free; is this food going to make my ass look big.  Don't misunderstand.  A dog knows what is food and what is not food.  My brother tells a story of his time in Saudi Arabia when he came across a starving street dog on base and tried to feed it the Twinkie from his mess kit.  The dog turned its nose up at it and went and chewed on an old road kill snake instead.  That's a sobering moment for a Twinkie lover.  I'm not sure if he ate the nuclear waste filled pastry after that or not but you can take that illustration for what you will, either a criticism of Twinkies, dogs, or humans.  For the most part, though, a dog's requirements are simple and so my responsibility to her is simple.  Feed her or train her to feed herself and give her the freedom to do so.

This one's easy.  Letting the dog feed itself isn't such a good option in the city so I have to feed her.  I can buy dog food by the front loader bucket full at Costco and I'm good about giving it to her as well.  (Yeah I'm so Wendellian!)  It's funny to say it - I feed my dog - but there have been moments when, if she'd had an opposable thumb, she'd have beaten me with her bowl and gone and scooped some food for herself, and then curled up at my feet completely satisfied.

Many people give their dog table scraps.  I love this idea.  It's a fabulous form of recycling but I limit these small gifts of comradery at the table because she gets fat enough just foraging at the bottom of the boy's chairs and because I know what's best for her health (by which I mean a fine figure and a lack of explosive diarrhea on the furniture).  We all know a healthy dog sure as hell isn't eating what I eat.  Makes you wonder.  I don't think she really cares that much about it either way.  It's hard to imagine a dog saying; perhaps I should limit my eating at this moment, though food be falling from the sky, for I may become bloated and gaseous.  No.  She eats what comes to her and then lays prone and unmoving on the floor while filling the house with noxious fumes.  This is my problem not hers although she's been known to wake herself out of a sleep and then look at me in an accusatory manner as if I were responsible for the loud noise and rank smell.  So in good Wendellian fashion, don't feed your dog pickled eggs and beer and you should be good to go.  (In fact this heinous act of terrorism should be outlawed for humans and canines alike, at least from October to January for the safety and health of the hunting community.)

Now I know this isn't at all a difficult requirement to meet.  It's quite simple and I fulfill it in fine enough fashion.  Just feed your dog damnit.  How hard is that?  And I'm serious about the pickled eggs and beer.  No, really.