Dog is God spelled backwards

The grand experiment came to a close Friday in a choking horror of smell, piles of vomit, puddles of diarrhea.

I have been reading “Merle’s Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog” by Ted Karasote. It’s a wonderful book and I highly recommend it. It tells of Kerasote’s life with Merle, a hound/retriever cross. And the lessons he learned about living with a dog, not just owning a dog.
It struck a cord. I’d read a chapter, and end up loving on the girls. I started looking at them (again) as my partners in life, not just a possession. We started exploring together, we rough-housed (Scully would have nothing of that, as she’s too dignified; she does, however, like to be picked up and held); we sat and I let them rest their heads on me.
We were a clan again, a pack.
They got new dog beds out of it (it took Trinity two days before she’d lay on hers; mostly, she’d put two paws on the bed and rest her ass on the floor) and started getting bones for their teeth.

The big experiment came last week, when I decided to switch them to a bones and raw food diet.
They were puzzled, confused. But went along with it, nibbling at first (Trinity would pick up a chicken heart and spit it out across the floor).
I’d feed them, then we’d go explore the field. I’d wait until they did their bidness, then check it out. Everything was going along famously.
Until Friday.
I opened the door to the most putrid, overpowering stench. I thought it was the cat box. I scooped it.
And realized that this wasn’t the cat box.
I opened the door to the girls’ bedroom and they couldn’t wait to escape the carnage.
They both looked hurt and confused.
I gathered them both up, roughed up their fur, spoke in soft tones. I told them that it was OK and that I was the one in trouble. That it was me who fucked up. Still, Scully (who made the mess) felt so bad. She hung her head in shame ad wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I let them out, grabbed the cleaning supplies (two rolls of paper towels) and put on rubber gloves and went to work.
Luckily, she managed to keep everything on an old area rug. I rolled it up and trashed it.
I opened up the house, turned on the house fan, lit candles, showered with hot water.

And I got down on the floor and gathered them up again and reassured them that it was OK.
We’re still a pack, but one that dishes out the kibble.


Mistress of the Mix said...

Ew. Well, I would like to take this opportunity to publicly apologize for any part my influence may have had on your profoundly disgusting experience. The raw meat diet has worked quite well for my household, although I always get the meat, bones and organs ground up and mix it with raw vegetables. The last time I recall coming home to cute little puddles of vomit and diarrhea was when a friend of mine thought it would be funny to sneak him food under the table at a dinner party. I don't remember what horrible thing I had done to her first! I probably gave her kids caffeine and sugar. Serves me right, I suppose. You know me, I'd never mention names. But she's baking you a cake. So don't let her near your dogs!

Lucas Mobley Photography said...

I didn't realize you had blog. Good stuff man.


Mistress of the Mix said...

Ahem. I have been asked to print a retraction of my previous statement made at 10:33am regarding the person who is baking you a cake.
Her memory is better than mine - maybe it's all the gluten and baking soda in her diet, I dunno - but that annoying vm beep on my phone? It was her, calling to inform me that while she was present during the doggy diarrhea/vomit inducing incident at my house, it was not HER who fed my dog under the table. It was someone else, a friend who has now moved away to another state, who was getting me back for feeding her cat mashed potatoes at a previous dinner party.
I stand corrected, and take back everything I said earlier except for the part about her baking you a cake.

Uncle E said...

I had a 148 pound King Doberman named, appropriatly, Zeus back in the 90's. I also attempted to change his diet and came back from work one day to find the largest and most unholy of foul messes I have ever encountered.
It's just one of those lessons you have to learn the hard way, I suppose.