Chicken soup, I once read, is clinically proven to prevent and cure the common cold. This is why I made some this weekend. It turned out beautifully, my best yet, and is now expanding noodles in a container in the fridge.
I gave some to the dog last night. He is finicky, to say the least, but sporadically finicky. There are meals when he turns up his nose for hours until the food turns dry and brown around the edges. It's expensive food so I feel guilty throwing it out, though not as guilty as I'd feel if he ate the stale morsels and got sick. So out it goes, $5 at least, right into the garbage can.
I've tried discussing the current economic state not only of the world and the country, but of our household. "I am now a minimum-wage worker and momma can't bring home the bacon like she used to." All he hears is "bacon" and so his tail sets to wagging in anticipation of bacon scraps in his next bowl.
This is why I tried a few spoonfuls of chicken soup in his bowl last night. He ate it right up. Licked the sides of his bowl as if the soup had soaked itself right into the ceramic edges. But this morning, no go. I set it down, made him wait like any good dog owner, and then pretended to eat from his bowl. This has been the advice of the breeder right down to the pet store clerk who have all advised a "pack leader" mentality -- the leader ALWAYS eats before the pack. So, I pretend to dip a cracker or two into his bowl and the moan deliciously while I eat the crackers.
Either my dog is too dumb or consequently too smart. This technique works infrequently, so infrequent that I'm not sure when it does work that it's actually the cracker technique that has spawned a voracious appetite on his part or some other cosmic alignment of which I am woefully unaware. There are times, this morning in fact, when I ritualistically dip the cracker, moan with delight, that he looks at me and says, "If that bowl is full of crackers, we're in business lady, but if it's one of your silly ploys to convince me to eat that swill, it's not going to work."
He then walks into the study and curls up in a sleepy ball under my desk and sighs with regularity.
I can hear his stomach growl as I work.
On occasion he will fool himself into an upset stomach. He's done this recently, not eating until late in the afternoon, chowing down, instead, on grass in the back yard. He promptly throws up and then, just like humans, everything seems unappealing. But I'm convinced his stomach is not upset in the least. Rather it is empty and he mistakes hunger pains for an illness and refuses to realize if he ate his breakfast, he could pass up on the grazing.
This then, is his not so bright side.
He is not starving. I remind myself of that often. He is lean and fit and perhaps slightly under weight, but by no means in any danger of wilting away. When Monty comes for a visit, he'll eat after watching Monty down his food, but now that Monty is recovering from his flipped stomach (which required surgery last week!) and is on a 4 times a day small canned food diet, he doesn't come over as much to give eating lessons to Rubin.
That Rubin is not eating this morning actually works in my favor as we have a one-on-one session with Katie, his dog trainer. Rubin is well-behaved. A little rambunctious at times, but on the whole, obedient. Occasionally, though, he throws himself into misbehavior with such abandon, I wonder whose dog he really is or if he's in fact possessed by demons.
His favorite escapade is to grab his ball with which we are playing fetch and hop around us barking uncontrollably. Try as we might - with the use of enticing food and happy voices -- he will not get close enough for us to touch him let alone catch him. I read somewhere that this is a dog's idea of a joke. If so, Rubin is the king of joking. If he has any inkling that we are about to leave the game of fetch and strap on his leash, he morphs into a disobedient fiend, the master of keep away. A canine comedian.
While this behavior has been diminishing as he ages, the other night, during a game of fetch, his disobedience rose to a new level. We play at night in a big field by our house using a yellow ball that blinks rapidly so the dogs (Monty is usually with us) can see the ball as it's hurled across the field. The dogs chase after their respective blinky balls and then bound back to us for another throw. But on the night in question, Rubin retrieved his ball only to see a cyclist race across the field, his red blinking light on the back of his bike glowing in his wake.
Rubin took off. Barking at first and then headlong into a dead run, chasing the cyclist across the field and then, to our horror, across a busy street whereupon a car had to slam on its brakes to avoid hitting him. We raced across the field shouting and screaming, but Rubin was in another world, chasing the cyclist with a singular purpose. When he finally realized he couldn't catch the rider, he turned around, back across the busy street and toward us, though when he arrived at our panting panic, he played his beloved game of keep away.
An interesting side note is that we often keep Rubin's leash on him (it's called a leash drag) so we can stop his games of keep away with our foot on his leash, but in his rabid race across the field, he lost not only his leash but his collar. Sensing that there was no way for us to capture him after the near death experience, he fell into his game of chase me, chase me. Eventually we caught him (cornered in a three-way grab) and then we spread out across the field to search for his collar and leash. I thought it was hopeless since the field had just been mowed and clumps of grass created a depth into which a human could get lost and most certainly a dog collar.
Just as we were to give up hope, I saw that Monty, who was off leash and as always obedient, lying down in the middle of the field. As I approached him I said, "I bet you found his leash, didn't you?" at which point Monty jumped up, tossed his own blinky ball into the air and pranced around me. I kicked my feet through the grass right where Monty had been lying and what do you know, there was Rubin's collar and leash.
Despite Monty's amazing ability to sleuth and communicate, Rubin's disobedience not only almost got him killed, but got us all brainstorming how to avoid such disobedience in the future.
"A shock collar," was Ann's suggestion and for the first time, I had to agree that that might just be the thing.
So, I emailed Katie the trainer who agreed to meet with us, not with a traditional shock collar, but with something a bit less cruel -- a vibrating collar. "It doesn't shock them at all," Katie wrote to me, "It sends out a sound and vibrates against their neck. It's just the thing to get their attention when they are in the altered state of chase." We scheduled an appointment immediately (for today) and Katie will see if Rubin reacts to the vibration of the collar before we decide to purchase one.
I have all the confidence in the world that this dog will get it with the first vibration. He hates anything "on him" like a raincoat or bandanna, so I imagine he'll figure out quickly that the vibration on his neck is something to obey lest it tickle him again. The fact that he will have an empty belly will also be to my advantage as he is never one to turn down tasty treats while training.
This has turned into a rambling post, but this is how I feel today -- a bit rambling. I have chores today, but sitting here listening to the keyboard click away, writing about the crazy, hungry dog at my feet feels more pertinent.
But I must get to it. I promised our neighbor I'd walk her dog today while she is off at school working on her master's degree in urban planning and community rehabilitation. There are sheets to change and bills to pay and then, yes, the vibrational training class.
Rambling.
Perhaps after such an adventure, chicken soup soaked kibble will sound scrumptious!
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