Pizza and Movie Night

For the better part of a decade, Friday nights have been pizza and movie night at our house. For us humans, the ritual includes choosing which flick to see, grabbing pizza and salad to go from a local pizzeria, and sitting together in the living room, munching our dinner while we watch our film.

The ritual is eagerly anticipated by the dogs. They probably refer to Friday nights as pizza crust and crouton night. And maybe, everybody's-in-the-living-room-together -and-on-winter-nights-there's- a-fire-and-it's-warm-cozy-and-snuggly night.

The rule about movies is that we have a family movie – that means one we all watch together – and it can only be rated G or PG, since the youngest family member is only eight years old. Sometimes this requirement generates a fair amount of whining from the teenager. "Why do I have to watch that dumb movie? My friends all watch R-rated movies." Compassionately, I usually answer, "Oh, well."

I feel strongly about this together time even if it is begrudged on occasion. I can't see us each deposited in separate rooms, staring distantly at separate screens. On movie night, we share a common experience – we laugh, we cry, we're scared, even bored. But we do it together.

We have the common experience of drooling dogs staring us down, willing us to hand over pizza before it's down to the crust, whining at us to abandon all of our Caesar salad croutons to our poor pitiful canines. And then we snuggle in to be entranced by orphaned geese, polar bears, or ravens; to watch kids triumph over grown-up efforts to spoil a park, knock down an old house, or ruin a natural habitat. Foster kids always find a loving home and the animals (almost) always get rescued.

Canine Ode to Green Tripe

In the year since I discovered it, I have come to believe that green tripe just might be the holy grail of dog food. I have yet to meet a dog who won't devour it. It's been praised by breeders and used in Europe as a food staple for dogs for decades.

Tripe is the stomach of ruminating – or grass-eating – animals such as cows, buffalo, sheep, and others who have a four-chambered stomach. Their food (grass or hay) is swallowed and passes into the first two chambers where it is then regurgitated, chewed, and mixed with saliva. It is swallowed again and then passes into the last chamber of the stomach where it is further broken down by gastric juices and acids – YUM!

Green refers not to the color, but to the fact that the tripe is fresh – not washed, scalded, and bleached like the tripe you might find in the grocery store has been. That so called white tripe has no nutritional value for the dog.

How can something so disgusting be so good? On analysis, green tripe was found to contain the correct ratio of calcium to phosphorus ideal for canine health. It has the necessary essential fatty acids in their recommended proportions. Also discovered was the presence of Lactobacillus Acidophilus – the good intestinal bacteria. All this from one food source – what's the catch?

The green tripe I buy smells like an outhouse and looks like vomit. During the summer when I thaw it out, we humans are forced to either evacuate the house, or put the tripe outside. This is what I think endears it to dogs. The nose knows – all those beneficial bacteria and enzymes, the gastric acids which aid digestion and clean teeth, and a rubbery texture for chewing pleasure – what more could a dog hope for?

 

Sensitive

 

Nicholai cherishes big, soft, plush toys. He carries his prize stuffies around the house with his head held erect and tail high, demonstrating to all his pride of ownership.

The girls, Izzy and Kelley, are voracious murderers of toys, ripping off faces, shredding limbs, and eviscerating toys with alarming efficiency. I once purchased a heavy duty tennis ball with a squeaker inside, guaranteed to be indestructible. Izzy quaked with anticipation when I pulled it out of the bag. I tossed it onto the ground for her and she nabbed it up in frenzy. Holding it between front paws, head down and rump up, she began to work her jaws on it. I glanced at my cell phone for the time. In seven minutes of focused attention, she had punctured the ball, popped out the squeaker, and then for good measure, ripped the ball to pieces. So much for guaranteed.

Nicholai takes an opposite approach. He carries his "babies," as we call them, to his special sleeping spots – his hideout in the basement behind the washer and his bolster bed in a corner of the living room. There he curls up with a front leg around his furry crab or stretches his neck and gently lays his chin on his fuzzy green turtle, or his over-size brown teddy bear.

He has to protect his plush toys from the girls who are relentless. Most of the time, he stashes his treasures downstairs, where they do not tread. On occasion, though, we have had to rush to pick up a teddy bear, a turtle, or the precious crab he's left laying on the floor, before it dies a sudden and unceremonious death. Even our youngest son has been known to jump up from his Lego's, crying out "No, Izzy, no!"

It's a beautiful piece of complexity, this gentleness with toys. Nicholai hunts small animals, chases cats, and barks at strangers, wary and protective. But he has his sensitive side too. And, in the privacy of his own home, he's not afraid to show it.

Ups and Downs

Vet check today. Nicholai is panting a bit more than usual. His energy is good as usual and his enthusiasm for food – well, that is undisturbed. Somehow, I think appetite will be the last to go, the final harbinger that the dance is done, the curtain falling, the last chapter finished.

Examination reveals lymph nodes slightly increased in size again. They have waxed and waned over the past twelve months, each cycle alternately striking alarm or relief into my clinging heart. With today's report, a little knot of anxiety gripped my stomach. Breathe in, breathe out. He will die of this disease, this I know.

Our walk this morning was striking, the early morning sun gleaming off Mount Hood, air cool – biting almost – on my hands. Nicholai still strutted jauntily ahead of me, appearing to have a wonderful time. I do hope that my sensitive boy will show me when he needs more rest and not try to keep up appearances for appearances – or my – sake.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, I really feel the clock today. Next weekend it will be ten years since we found Nicholai and his littermates in the freezing rain in a north Portland park. I want to arrive at the anniversary with my "bubba," but the memory of his sweetie, Maya, and her rapid decline bubbles up in both my heart and mind. He could go at any time. I struggle for equanimity, but remind myself that there is no way around grief – only through. No amount of sensibleness will prevent Nicholai's death or eliminate my need to grieve it.

Sigh.

Dinner

A vegetarian for many years, I had to stop hiding behind neat little nuggets of kibble and come face to face with feeding my dogs meat. For a healthy and balanced dog diet, the bulk of calories must come from meat and bones.

I feed Nicholai, Izzy, and Kelley their meat separate from veggies and other add-ons, mostly for convenience, and partly because I hold on to the belief that bodies digest different types of food differently. So, at our house, its sweet potatoes and veggies in the morning, and – m-m-m, m-m, good – raw meat with bones at night.

My sources for meat over time have been many, ranging from meat suppliers, to my local natural food grocery store; in both of these cases I have been able to purchase whole cases of free-range chicken necks and backs, or turkey necks at a reasonable price. These days, for convenience, I purchase meat that has been pre-ground with bone and frozen into two-pound packages, I just thaw the necessary meat each day for that day's meal.

The dogs eat a variety of meat and bones – chicken, turkey, quail, lamb, and venison, and their knock-out favorite, green tripe. Nicholai is a lover of rabbit, but Izzy turns up her nose at it, so I stopped buying it the last time I ran out since it seemed Nicholai wasn't going to be here much longer. I guess I may have to re-think that.

The shift to raw meat was at first a hard one. But a little research into the dog food industry cured me of any concerns I'd had – which were mostly aesthetic anyway. Of course there's meat in commercial kibble (often the lowest kind and quality from animals in the most hideous of conditions), so in purchasing meat for my dogs; I took on the responsibility and power of supporting humane and healthy animal husbandry practices. I care about my dogs enough to feed chickens to them, but I care about chickens enough to make sure they don't spend their lives in darkened barns, stacked in battery cages.

Suzanne Clothier, who wrote Bones Would Rain from the Sky – Deepening Our Relationships with Dogs, wrote about feeding a chicken she had raised to her old and ailing dog. She said, "I see chickens sprawled in summer sunshine, white-feathered wings akimbo like sunbathing angels pausing for a moment to rest on the greenest of green grass. I see the brightness of their eyes … I watch my dog eat, and I hope that the sunshine still lurks in that flesh."

I thank her for that beautiful image. I, too, hope that sunshine, and the beauty of a life well-lived, lurks in the flesh that my dogs happily gobble down each night.

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.

Breakfast

Every morning, our three dogs are treated to a fresh, home-made breakfast. Breakfast has gone through many incarnations at our house, depending on our dogs, their ages and health needs, and as I have weeded through fanatical opposing opinions out there about the best way to feed your dog. Everything from raw meaty bones only, to "scientifically" commercially produced kibbles are touted as the
way, and often the only way, to successfully feed our dogs.

For anyone seriously wondering what your dog should eat, I highly suggest reading Pet Food Politics, by Marion Nestle (no relation to the chocolate chips), and Food Pets Die For, by Ann Martin – just in case you think that there is solid science behind the production of kibble, or operate under the misconception that the dog food industry exists first and foremost to make healthy food for your dog. Thankfully, we've had the advent of better quality kibble with better ingredients in recent years. Still … little dry brown nuggets, every day …?

In the morning, I grab a bundle of veggies that I have prepped on the weekend. It includes leafy greens such as kale, collards, and mustard greens I have plucked from the garden; carrots, red pepper, and yellow squash, that I've supplemented from the store; zucchini from our freezer (we grew so many zukes this summer we saved enough to get through the entire winter for soup and dog food), a touch of celery or cabbage or broccoli, a few blueberries, half an apple. Chopping lightly, I then throw it into a food processor blending it into a fine mash. To this colorful veggie mash, I add a bit of organic whole milk yogurt, cottage cheese, and steamed yams. Several days per week, one fresh egg – shell and all – will top off the breakfast serving.

I add digestive enzymes (though the fresh raw food is replete with un-degraded enzymes, I supplement because of Nicholai's cancer – just to hedge my bets), an anti-oxidant vitamin, fish or flax or olive oil, and Nicholai's prescribed herbal medicines. On odd days, I put in a touch of local raw honey, a tablespoon of vinegar, a dollop of molasses, or a sprinkle of nutritional yeast.

The dogs dive into their breakfast with unrestrained gusto. Visiting dogs do not turn down these rations. When we fostered a litter of eight-week-old puppies, the youngsters scavenged from the garden of their own volition, nibbling on cabbage and zucchini, trying leaks and apples that had fallen on the ground. Many a morning, I have looked at my cup of coffee and my biscuit or muffin, and plopped a big scoop of veggies into a bowl with some of that creamy yogurt – m-m-m good.

And this is only breakfast.