Young dog lives off the fat of the land
- col-leslie-pearce-keating
- October 9, 2023
- 621
I’m not sure what pushed me over the edge. Maybe it was Zuzu’s unwillingness to eat anything canine. Perhaps it was the constant glare she sent my way as I ate my own breakfast or dinner. Most likely, it was the way her tummy gurgled and how she sometimes had to run outside to have a nasty poop that propelled me to utter those words, “OK, I’ve had it.”
Regardless, I was fed up. With my busy schedule, cooking for a dog is out of the question, though I have been doing exactly that for the past two dogs and Zuzu. As a result of her persnickety palate, this Poodle was eating, well, like a human, and this anxious mama couldn’t take it anymore, especially when she began turning her nose up at rotisserie chicken fresh from the market. As my late dad would say, “Darned brat!”
Allow me a brief recap. Zuzu came to me as a sweet 16-week-old rescue Poodle who loved to cuddle on my lap. The merle-coated pup arrived just days after sweet Teddy, a black Golden Doodle dog, took his last breath at the tender age of 2. In addition, Finnigan, my older rescue Poodle, was on the downward slide with stomach issues, arthritis and old age. I was striving, no, I was fighting to keep him alive, just as I had been with Teddy as he fought his fearless opponent, osteosarcoma. So I was feeding to please.
Enter baby Zuzu stage left. She brought joie de vivre to my house that both Finn and I were desperately seeking following the pandemic and Teddy’s demise. Finn acted like Zuzu was invisible, like all the dogs that preceded her, but in truth I caught them playing a few times when I entered the room unexpectedly. Yet I was dog-tired after trying to keep Teddy alive following his amputation while also ministering to the aging Finnigan.
So not as an excuse but as a reason, before Teddy’s cancer metastasized to his lungs, I was enticing him to eat anything and everything — Finn too. Eggs, why not? Sweet potato? Absolutely. Chicken? For sure. Cottage cheese? You betcha. And the list went on and on.
However, Finn got worse over the few years after Teddy died, which meant my efforts increased. Part of my steak? Have a few bites. Watermelon? That’s a winner. A slice of gluten-free toast? Sure thing. Let’s add butter. And as Finn aged, his appetite waned, even when there was rotisserie chicken in his bowl.
Zuzu then became a stealth artist. Yes, I had her sequestered in her crate so she wasn’t hounding Finn for his goodies. Yes, I remembered to pick up Finn’s bowl before releasing growing Zuzu from her crate. OK, sometimes I forgot, and Zuzu got the motherload of yummies.
No wonder she began turning her nose up to Science Diet. No wonder she turned away from canned food too. But I had finally had it when the tummy problems began and even rotisserie chicken was not suitable for Miss Picky Pants, who now weighed in at nearly 60 pounds.
I went to my friendly Pet Supplies Plus because they give out such great coupons. First, I bought Redford’s food, which was very expensive but guaranteed to satisfy. Then I added the canned topping. No go. Zu wouldn’t even touch the stuff. (Hmmm, maybe it was the quinoa?)
Then Janie, the sweet sales girl, and I conferred. How about Taste of the Wild, she asked? I’d always read good things about that food. Janie also suggested salmon oil, which I sprinkled over the food liberally. (I had tried that product a few years ago with Finn.)
For two days it was nirvana. Zuzu was eating her dog food. No more tummy rumblings. But then she stopped — cold turkey — and I waited, listening to the clock tick in my family room as she sauntered by her bowl each morning and night. But I am stubborn, I told myself. This is for Zuzu’s own good, I repeated in my head.
And then one afternoon after two weeks of open battle, I surrendered, white flag and all. I put the same Taste of the Wild salmon kibble in her bowl, but I added a chicken drumstick, except for bones, of course. The next morning she got a sunny-side-up egg just like I did, splat, right in the sea of the kibble. I was defeated.
I guess you can’t teach an old dog new tricks (me, I mean). My young dog is living off the fat of the land. Just yesterday morning I looked over at her as she slurped the last bite of her breakfast. I swear she was smirking. She knows me to be a fool.
Leslie Pearce-Keating can be emailed at leslieannpearce@gmail.com.