Sometimes it’s hard to be a dog. I mean, I know I mostly live a good life: I’ve got a nice home with a loving human family, a big yard, and my very own basket of dog toys. But I can’t help but noticing that at my house, there are certain glaring inequities between the lifestyles of those who walk around on two feet and those of us who walk around on four paws.
I’ve written before about the fact that humans get to use an indoor bathroom, whereas I am forced to potty outside, no matter what the weather. It seems especially unfair when it raining or storming, since those are very scary situations and all I want to do is hide inside and hope that I live to see another day. And don’t get me started on the perils of icy porch steps or searching in vain for a spot in the yard that isn’t covered in snow or sleet so I can finally do my business.
But the biggest discrepancy (and the one I find hardest to accept) occurs at mealtime. My parents eat three meals a day, plus snacks. Sometimes they eat out at restaurants, bringing home the leftovers, and other times Mom cooks. My favorite dog bed is in the kitchen, so I’m right there while she’s cooking (or reheating) and the delicious aromas just make my mouth water! When the meal is finally ready, I prance around the kitchen, wagging my tail and in general letting them know just how happy I’d be if they fix a plate for me, but does that ever happen? No, it does not.
Mom and Dad might feast on a huge variety of meats, pastas, vegetables, fruits and breads, but do you know what I get served? Dry dog kibble, that’s what. Twice a day, every day. Yes I know that there are plenty of starving dogs in the world who would happily make do with kibble, but do you have any idea how hard it is to see and smell so many tasty foods, day in and day out, and never get offered more than one tiny morsel of it? Trust me, it’s enough to drive a dog crazy!
I’ve tried to let my parents know how I feel. When they’re eating, I sit right next to them and stare at them imploringly, whining a little now and then to drive my point home. All that gets me is the aforementioned tiny morsel, and that’s after they’ve cleaned their plates. I even tried ignoring my kibble in the hopes that they’d serve me something better, but Mom just said that a hunger strike would do my waistline a world of good. (Body shaming may be a no-no for humans, but clearly it’s still acceptable for us dogs….yet another inequity.)
Don’t get me wrong, I really love my parents. And I know they think they’re doing the right thing by feeding me the dry dog food. But that doesn’t stop me from hoping that they’ll eventually figure out that what I really want is to eat the same food they do, served in very generous portions. A dog can dream…..