Food for the Dogs
I have a friend who cooks dog food for his standard poodle. This guy is a good cook and clearly he can’t conceive of giving his beloved pooch anything but well seasoned meatballs and chicken. I have watched him sprinkle judicious quantities of dried herbs, salt and pepper over a big bowl filled with chopped beef that he forms into meatballs, and seen him chop numerous cloves of garlic to season boneless chicken breasts already liberally smeared with paprika. The first time I witnessed this I thought he was cooking a week’s worth of dinners for people, although he was being a little more cavalier than usual with his seasoning technique. Oh. It’s dog food. This is for Rosie. I see. I get the garlic — it’s healthful — but does your dog really care about paprika? or thyme? But, okay. Rosie deserves the love.
Many folks do the same — there was a big story about cooking for your pets in the New York Times a few months back — but while I am too lazy to even consider it, Paul and I absolutely share a devotion to our canines. Mine is a 115-pound rescued labrador. At least he looks pretty much like a black lab when he doesn’t look like a great dane or a pit bull. He was born nearly five years ago in Louisiana, I have been told, and found his way up north with a rescue group for his “breed.” He came to live with me pretty much by default, but he quickly won my heart. Dogs do that.
I feed Zeus food from a sack that I buy in the supermarket or the pet food store. Occasionally he gets to lick a cutting board or snack on some leftover chicken, but mainly he is satisfied with his kibble. After he bolts his food every evening, he sits patiently, patiently waiting for the cats to get over their finicky manners and walk away from their dinners. Then he dives in to lick up any remnant of canned cat food left clinging to the bottom of the bowls. He never steals food from the counter or from a plate, even if it’s on a coffee table, which makes me wonder if he really is a labrador.
I am sure if I were to start cooking him well seasoned meatballs and garlicky chicken, he would be a happy boy. But, hey, he seems happy enough with life as he knows it.
copyright © Mary Goodbody