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The travails
of Snoopy
When Snoopy
came into our lives over five years ago, we had no idea that we
were adopting a Beagle with an uncertain stomach. Mariel had
done her homework and learned that Beagles howled, dug under
fences, rarely lifted their noses off the ground and were
generally stubborn cusses, so we were prepared for all that. But
we were not prepared for a hound whose appetite far outstripped
his ability to digest his dinner.
When he came
to us from the Animal Rescue League, I was desperate to find a
dog food that he would eat. Our vet had suggested several
brands, so I bought small amounts of each, determined
that this dog would eat mostly dog food.
The only
other dog I have ever owned ate dog food only if I turned it
into a game. I would throw kibble across the room and he would
race off, capture it, and occasionally swallow it. But when it
came to his dinner he only ate people food. I knew it was
because he had lived the first year of his life on the streets
with the construction workers and they, along with families in
our building, had fed him their lunches and table scraps. I
imagine that compared with a salami sub, dog kibble wouldn’t
stand a chance.
Oddly
enough, this dog also had a queasy stomach, especially if he
dined on one of the neighbor’s chicken bone confections. He
would come home and generously share his dinner with me —
usually on the rug.
No matter
how much I begged the neighbors not to feed him, explaining that
chicken bones were dangerous, they looked at me as if I was
crazy and went on feeding him. So all I could do was try to
ensure that he didn’t escape, and failing that, clean up the
mess afterwards.
I was
determined that Snoopy would learn to like dog food if it killed
him and me together. I reasoned that when he got good and hungry
he would eat what was in his bowl. What I hadn’t reckoned with
was his innate Beagle stubbornness and my melting heart. He
looked so skinny and underfed, his rib cage sticking out — how
could I let my baby starve? So I mixed his food up with chicken
and the food was gone before it even hit the bowl.
However, it
wasn’t long before what went down started coming up. This was
not fun. One evening during one of Mom’s visits, the Snoopster
outdid himself. Steve, Mom and the girls were upstairs in the
kitchen playing cards while I was trying to book hotel
reservations for Lisa and me for our trip to Montreal. I felt
chained to the computer, as it kept freezing every time I was
about to make a reservation. This happened repeatedly, making me
angrier and angrier — especially when I heard the laughter in
the kitchen.
Finally I
could see the finish line ahead with just a few more keystrokes,
when Snoopy came downstairs acting very strangely. He kept
circling the room and me, head down, sides heaving, and I knew
this was not good. Then suddenly, everything he had eaten that
day started coming out. The coup de grace occurred when he
planted himself under my legs (probably for comfort) and
finished off the job. I began to scream,
“Lisa!
Mariel! Come down here and clean up after your dog!!!!”
To their
credit, the girls raced down; but when they saw how thorough
Snoopy had been in decorating the room, they began arguing over
who would clean up what.
“I don’t
care who cleans it up, just do it so that I can get off this
rotten computer sometime in this century!!!!” I sweetly enjoined
my daughters. Snoopy just sat there looking thoroughly
miserable. I ended up holding him while murmuring that he would
be okay.
“You’re darn
right he’ll be okay, because we are going to stop feeding him so
much!” Steve declared. “That dog is revisiting his food because
we feed him too much!”
So we
figured out a revised menu for our pup, and within a few days
his stomach straightened out. Occasionally, he had a recurring
episode, but basically he was fine — until last week when I took
him for his yearly check-up.
The vet was
concerned that he wasn’t getting enough vitamins and she
preferred that he get his vitamins from food. She suggested
three things: increasing his dog food portion, getting rid of
the rice that we fed him and adding vegetables. Vegetables?
Somehow I
couldn’t imagine Snoopy as a broccoli aficionado, but who knew?
Following doctor’s orders, we began feeding him what seemed to
be an awful lot of dog food, carrots, broccoli and cauliflower.
And within two days Snoopy was back to his old stomach problems.
“This is
insane!” Steve protested. “We’re not only feeding him too much
but now the veggies are doing him in.”
My eldest,
Lisa, agreed.“ Mom, you’re feeding him the gassiest vegetables
imaginable. It’s a wonder he’s keeping anything in!”
So I gave
up, went to the store, bought him some vitamins the size of
horse pills, and put him back on his old diet. We’ve been fine
ever since.
Well almost
fine. I now have to brush his teeth every night and that’s a
struggle that rivals Dunkirk. But that’s a whole other story.
May 22, 2008
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