In the Kitchen with the Farmer’s Dog

Meal times used to be sort of tense with Dobby around. He would sit at my feet and beg for food; if I wasn’t timely with delivery, he would yip at me. I gave him tiny cuts of meat—not so much of anything that it replaced the need for his normal food but enough to keep him amused. But the demanding nature of it got a little old, and at the same time, I started seeing ads on TV for the Farmer’s Dog and for similar brands. You’ve seen them, no doubt. They generally rail on “overcooked brown pellets” and pay homage to their own special blend of “real food,” including “real” turkey, chicken, beef, carrots, and other vegetables and fresh ingredients. They also extol the virtues of varying food for your dogs so they don’t wind up bored, fat, and unsatisfied.

I was affected by the advertising, for sure, but did not give them the outcome they hoped for. Mostly, I thought, I make rice or mashed potatoes, lean meat, and lots of vegetables at almost every meal I eat. That’s all good for Dobby. I can just be my own Farmer’s Dog and give Dobby his own plate. So I started spooning out two tablespoons of rice, two ounces of chicken, and a few slices of cutup zucchini, carrots, spinach, yellow squash, and similar vegetables (never onions, though—toxic to dogs). I mix them on a plate, heat them, and yell to Dobby that his food is ready.

For the first few times of doing this, I got big reactions from Dobby—this was truly the best thing EVER. All begging stopped, and just grateful feasting occurred. I snapped pictures of what Dobby was eating and sent them to the Goons, and I was always satisfied with the responses: Yet again, more evidence that Dobby eats better than I do.

Lately, though, I’m not so sure I’m feeling the same love from Dobby. One might even say that he’s starting to feel entitled, maybe even choosy. Last night, I made a tremendous meal of orange chicken, rice, and baked broccoli. I made Dobby his own plate, set it near my chair, and called for him. No movement or response. At all. I found him sitting on a chair in the front room.

Maybe it’s me, I rationalized, as all abused and manipulated people do. I didn’t make it clear enough that it was dinner time. I should make sure he can SEE the food.

So I moved his plate closer to the family room where he could clearly see it. And this happened.

I mean, just look at the ravenous intensity! All right, fine. There’s no ravenous intensity. We could better characterize this as “bored expectation.” He didn’t move at all for several long moments, so I sat down in my chair at the table with my own plate of food. Finally, when it became clear to him that I wasn’t serving his food on a platter at his family room chair, he deigned to get down whereupon he bounded over to his food with wild enthusiasm . . . okay, he didn’t do that either.

Instead, he paused at the entrance to the kitchen to evaluate. Should I continue? Is this just more of the same home-cooked, chef-curated food for my dietary needs? Do I even want that? At last, he leapt up into the kitchen and sauntered over whereupon he began devouring his meal . . . fine, he didn’t do that at all. Instead, he began sniffing all over the plate to decide what to do with what parts of the meal.

You see, he has gotten a lot more discerning about what is on the plate. He has become quite adept at separating the vegetables from the meat and rice. See if this sounds familiar . . . he doesn’t care for vegetables unless they are cooked in copious amounts of oil or butter and/or they are drenched in ranch dressing. I am not making this up.

But at least when he finished, he showed his gratitude . . . by walking casually away, hopping back down into the front room, and going back to his chair. He had to rest up—within half an hour, he would be demanding we play ball and with Catsy because we have to do that Every. Single. Night. between 6:30 and 7 pm.

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