A miracle has occurred at our house. Our dog, Charlie, is eating DOG food!
It may not seem like such a big deal to many of you, but for me…this is a true miracle that’s right up there with the loaves and fishes.
Since my husband, Marty, and I have been married, we have had two dogs. The first was Whitman, a 95-pound standard poodle we sadly lost to kidney disease three years ago and now we have Charlie, a 10-pound Shih Tzu.
“What different dogs,” people say to me all of the time. They marvel at how we went from a big dog like Whitman to a tiny little ball of fluff like Charlie. And they’re right. When Charlie first came to us, the cats were bigger than he was. We were constantly looking for him to make sure he hadn’t run away. And there were places in our fence where Whitman couldn’t even get his head through but Charlie could scurry right by. And he got LOTS of use out of THAT skill when our neighbor’s female dog “came into season,” as they say in canine circles.
I’ve always said Whitman sent Charlie to us and I firmly believe it. The two of them have so many similarities it can’t possibly be just a coincidence. One of the most outstanding likenesses is the way they both approach food. When we got Whitman, he had just lost his first “mom” so he was depressed when he came to us. He had belonged to my stepson’s mom who we lost to melanoma after a long brave battle. She had asked me to take care of Whitman for her and I agreed. He ADORED her and couldn’t understand where she went. He was being taken away from his home and he didn’t know us at all. He wouldn’t eat the dry food that was sent with him so I got some wet food. He gave that a passing nibble and then looked at me with a baleful expression as if to ask what else I had.
So I gave him everything and anything. I bought baked chicken every other day. I gave him lean steaks I cooked for him. I would mix ham or steak in his food, I would warm the food with broth, stir the food, I’d have done ANYTHING to get him to eat.
“I wish you’d cook for me half as much as you cook for the dog,” Marty told me once when he overheard me asking Whitman if he wanted chicken or steak and thought I was speaking to him.
“Marty, Whitman has a delicate constitution,” I replied sweetly. “He can’t eat just ANYTHING, you know.”
“He’s a DOG, Julia! A D-O-G! He needs to eat DOG food.”
This argument went on for almost all the years Whitman was with us, but for those of you who hold to the theory if you give a dog a certain food and he won’t eat it, if you just wait, “he’ll eat when he gets hungry,” Whitman never got that memo.
He would NOT eat it. Not until I changed it or traded it for something he liked. Marty and I had many “discussions” on this, and even Marty had to admit Whitman could wait me out.
“It’s not like you wait a long time though Julia. You change the food after an hour or less. You’ve got to let him know you mean business.”
Sure.
Whenever I went out of town, Marty would call our neighbor Louise and ask her to come over to “get Whitman to eat.” He couldn’t wait him out either.
When Charlie came, I swore I wasn’t going through that again. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. No WAY!
Until Charlie got picky.
It was very much like Whitman. He didn’t like the dog food, and he simply wouldn’t eat it. He’d sniff it and then just practically roll his eyes at me. So it started all over again. The baked chicken, the hams, the steaks…all of it!
“Just give him DOG FOOD Julia,” Marty was adamant this time around. “He’s a DOG! D-O-G!”!”
“He won’t eeeeeaaaaat it Marty. You see that don’t you?”
“He will if that’s his only CHOICE!”
So I started trying it. At first it was not happening. He’d do the cursory couple of bites and then try to bury his bowl under a pillow. (Charlie won’t eat off the floor…he likes his meals on the couch or bed.)I figured I was beaten… again.
Then one day, I had mistakenly put his bowl in the running load of dishes in the dishwasher so I grabbed a regular cereal bowl from the cupboard and put his food in that. I took it to him and sat it down.
And he ate.
He ate it like he was famished. He was licking the bowl. He even looked up at me as if to ask for “more please!”
I figured it was a fluke and wouldn’t happen again, but it did. It’s been happening twice a day now for more than a week. My dog is eating dog food. And my husband is rejoicing his butt off.
“Well…look at this,” he’ll purr in my ear with an audible smirk as I sit astonished and gaping at the eating dog. “Our little Charlie dog is eating his DOG food! Isn’t that something?”
“Marty this can’t last…can it?” At this point I’m so thrilled to not have to “cook” every meal for Charlie I don’t even care if Marty is gloating.
“Sure it will, Baby… he’s a DOG…D-O-G. He gets D-O-G food. It’s that simple.”
I hope Marty’s right…serving D-O-G food to the D-O-G is a whole lot easier without all that cooking.
I’m just saying…
Leave a Reply