The War On Dog Food

I was at a thing a few weeks ago and the mother of a just-about-two-year-old said her son was going through a phase where all he’d eat was scrambled eggs and Nilla wafers. I said “hey, just like my dog!” Which probably wasn’t really the best thing to say, but sometimes I don’t always think about what I’m saying until… y’know… weeks later.

My dog is a picky eater. He always has been. He gets high quality dog food — no fillers or needless grain — and a mix of dry and canned. He does not get table scraps. Ever. On the rare occasion he gets “human food” it’s prepared at the same time as his regular dog food, mixed with his regular dog food, and it’s put into his bowl in the kitchen. Never from the table. Never from our plates. We’ve always made this distinction between his food and our food.

And still he’s a picky bastard. He’ll often be so hungry you can hear his stomach growling but he still won’t eat. I took a (crappy) cellphone picture last night of Cardiff huddled in his crate, acting like the most terrifying, disgusting thing is sitting in front of him. It is the dreaded Dog Food, dumped onto the floor of his crate (because in addition to being a picky eater he’s a bit obsessive-compulsive about the state of his crate — sometimes he’ll eat just to get the food off the floor).

He’s been to the vet for this several times. They put him on antacids for a brief time. They gave him a dewormer. He’s had a full x-ray to check his throat and intestines. His teeth are strong and clean, his gums are healthy, and he seems to be physically perfect.

I’m trying to figure out why he does this. I have a few theories, and all of them are pretty stupid.

1. Theory: Cardiff worries when he doesn’t see me and refuses to eat. Typically he pulls his “I don’t want to eat” routine when I’m not there. On weekends when Kitti gets up and walks and feeds Cardiff before I’m out of bed or before I’ve staggered downstairs, or in the evenings if I’m not downstairs when Kitti gets back from the nighttime walk.
   Argument against this theory: he doesn’t start eating once he sees me, and he has pulled his “food is icky” routine when I am there.
2. Theory: Cardiff has allergies and can’t always smell his food. Supported by the fact that he will go after the cat food (and the cat poop) even when he doesn’t want his own food, because they smell more.
   Argument against this theory: Cardiff has been known to sense an overturned trash can from half a mile away, and can find dead worms to roll around on.
3. Theory: He doesn’t like his food.
   Argument against this theory: He’s done this with several different brands of food, different combinations of foods, and he often refuses treats.
4. Theory: He’s a vegetarian. He’s more inclined to eat if there’s cheese, cottage cheese, or egg in his food, and he will usually eat just those parts and snub the canned and kibble.
   Argument against this theory: He’d eat cat food in a heartbeat.
5. Theory: The dog is just nuts, yo.
   Argument against this theory: None.

I’ve had a cat that walked on his back feet, a cat who used to hit the snooze alarm when she didn’t want to get out of bed, a bulimic cat, and gay fish. Why should I expect to have a normal dog?

Kitti and I have arguments over what to do about Cardiff’s non-eating ways. My position is to give him 15-20 minutes and if he doesn’t eat, take the food away. He’ll just have to go hungry until his next meal. Kitti’s strategy is to shout at the dog and rattle the food bowl at him. Which (again, another one of my theories) probably just makes food threatening and doesn’t help the situation.

All kidding aside, I think his food just doesn’t smell strongly enough for him. Do they make any sort of “hint of stink” for dog food (“New! Smells like roadkill!”). Ew. Maybe warming it up every time is what it’ll take. I’ll try that and get back to you.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 15th, 2010 at 10:28 and is filed under Dog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.