When we adopted Ali I assumed that our mixed breed puppy, rescued from the Everglades and bottle-fed by a very nice lady in Hialeah, would spend her life in a state of subservient gratitude to her two new daddies. I also assumed that, since her origins were low, she would be appreciative for whatever food we offered her.
The reality was way different: Ali came into our house, immediately discerned that our old, leather sofa was the most comfortable piece of furniture in the living room, made sure that the ceiling fan above it was in good working order, and established her Court. Once there, she began to plan her meals. Unfortunately, her idea of an appropriate meal (broiled pheasant, baked brie, creme brulee) and ours (Purina puppy chow) did not match.
As long as Ali gets her way she is a sweet girl, but she also has a maddeningly stubborn streak, and nowhere does her sweet, stubborn disposition rise to the surface more frequently than at mealtime, because, since Day One Ali has simply refused to eat dry dog food. She loves table scraps and, perversely, dry cat food, but the vet said that cat food and table scraps are not good for her so we keep trying new, and increasingly pricey, dry foods, trying desperately to find one she will eat. Her habit is to eat a couple of bites, just enough to sustain her, and then walk away, sneering as she does. Relying on a combination of stealth, guile and speed, she managed to sustain her growth spurt by by eating lizards she catches in the back yard and finding ingenious ways to steal the cats’ food. Ironically the cats, who up until now had been somewhat finicky eaters, began to perceive a very real threat to their well-being, and when fed, began attacking their food like hungry jackals before Ali could get to it.
But Ali is a big girl, and active, and one day when she was outside running I noticed she was so thin I could see her ribs. I was concerned; by now we had tried virtually every dry dog food on the market so, in desperation, my partner and I switched her to canned food. She liked the canned food just fine, but since she weighs 70 pounds she was eating 10 cans per day (at 70 cents per can,) which made her monthly food bill higher than mine. In addition, ten cans of dog food per day produced huge, foul-smelling stools that rendered the back yard uninhabitable. My brother recommended that we switch her back to dry food that we mixed with canned food. She went back to eating lizards and, just to annoy us, decided that, given the choice between any dry food on the market and mulch, she would rather munch mulch.
Increasingly frustrated, I was wandering through the pet store one day, deep in thought, trying to find a brand of dog food that I had not yet tried when Zach came by. Zach’s badge said he was the shift supervisor, but he looked like he was maybe 12 years old and he was so perky that I wanted to slap him. I restrained myself and asked if he had any suggestions to get Ali to eat.
Zach became, impossibly, perkier, and he dragged me to the frozen food case where he showed me some fresh-frozen dog food that he said was very popular with finicky eaters. Interested, I turned the container over and dropped it to the floor as though it was red-hot.
“This is $27.50 a pound,” I said, appalled.
“I know,” said Zach. “Dogs love it.”
“Zach,” I said with some heat, “for $27.50 a pound I can buy her boneless breast of chicken and hire a personal chef to prepare it for her.”
Zach was horrified. “Don’t do that,” he said. “People food is no good for dogs.”
“She eats mulch,” I said. “Chicken breast is not going to kill her.” Zach glared, clearly ready to report me to the ASPCA.
Later that week we had friends over for dinner. Rick and Rob have two huge rescue dogs that eat whatever is put in front of them. While I got dessert ready my partner, envious, told them our sad story and asked if they had any ideas.
“Have you tried changing her food?” said Rob.
I was spraying Redi-Whip on a peach shortcake at the time and was about to make a smart remark when, somehow, an errant glob of whipped cream managed to land on the floor. Ali ran over and lapped it up like a hungry jackal.
Wondering, I took the can over to her untouched dog food and liberally applied some Redi-Whip; her dish looked like a Purina Sundae. Ali attacked. I called my partner over and, in a kind of stupor we watched as Ali cleaned her plate and licked the bowl. She looked at my partner and me. We stared back. She licked her lips.
We’re going through three cans of Redi-Whip a week now; Ali has never been happier and mealtimes are no longer exercises in frustration. Then just last week Rob stopped by to say hello.
“Is it my imagination or is Ali getting fat?” he asked.