Give A Dog a Bone

Dogs have different nutritional needs than humans do, based on their own unique physiology. Take for example, teeth. One look inside a dog's mouth shows that our domestic companions are prepared for ripping and tearing flesh. With sharp incisors, long pointy canines, and few molars (pointy rather than flat), they are much better equipped for tearing muscle than for grinding down the cellulose of plant matter. Their mouths don't produce amylase – a starch breaking enzyme, and their digestive tract is relatively short, passing food through quickly (if you become a poop inspector, you will see this principle in action), and making the eating of animal flesh on-the-turn less risky. These biological features lead many to the conclusion that dogs are carnivores. As I've described in previous entries, Nicholai will eat most anything – dead or alive, when we're out in the wild – deer parts, voles and moles, bunnies, nutria, dead fish, and the list only gets grosser after that.

But dogs are natural scavengers, many argue. They are opportunistic eaters, like their wild ancestors and cousins, and therefore omnivores. Surely, this is rooted in the truth. The litters of puppies that our family fostered foraged in the yard without the slightest push from us, munching on all kinds of fruit and vegetable matter. And then there is the matter of grass. To date, I haven't met a dog who doesn't nibble grass, no matter what his people feed him. These observations (along with a ton of reading) have shaped my food offerings for my canine companions.

On Sundays, our dogs enjoy a big 'ole bone to chew on. It's usually a beef or buffalo knuckle bone. Nicholai, Izzy, and Kelley, each grab their prize and head off to a private and comfortable spot where they will chew for an hour or more, exercising jaw and shoulder muscles, manipulating the bone with wrists and paws, ripping off meat, cartilage, and fat, licking out marrow. Their pleasure in this afternoon delicacy could not be more evident. When they have chomped the large bones into pieces, we pick up the fragments. Their teeth are clean and breath is fresh. I am happy knowing they supplied themselves with a nice dose of calcium and other naturally attendant minerals, naturally occurring glucosamine and chondroitin, and most likely other stuff I don't even know about.

The dogs are happy … because, well, they're dogs. "Give a dog a bone," they say. And so, I do.