I tend to collect things. About ten or eleven years ago, for example, I got into handguns. I've met several folks over the years who like handguns, too. Usually, they own one, perhaps two; maybe a .357 Magnum and a .22 or a 9 mm and a .45 Long Colt cowboy rig. Me? No, I have thirteen of them. Or is it fourteen? I've lost track. I'd have to get up and go count them to verify the number, and right now I'm too lazy to do that.
And take bicycles as another example. I have four. Who on earth needs four bicycles? Today I was feeling a bit conspicuous in my cycle consumption. That is until I saw a blurb on TV about some Russian billionaire who has four mega-yachts. I don't feel so bad about my four bikes now. If he can have four huge, cruise-ship sized yachts, I can have four good bicycles. That's my rationale at any rate.
So, what does this have to do with dog food? Not much, except to say we also have a collection of animals in our household. It's only a modest collection, mind you. We have Chester, the oldest. He's a dog. We've had him since he was a puppy of about six months. He recently visited his 14th birthday. He's blind and wobbly now a days. We have to carry him outside to do his business. That's a bit of a hassle in the winter, though.
Then there's Gracie, the next oldest. She is our grand-cat. When our son James and his wife, Aimee, prepared to go to Brazil for several months about seven years ago, they asked us to watch her for them. On their return they found they couldn't take her back. We didn't have the heart to send her off to the pound or the Humane Society. At the time she was such a grouchy beast we figured sending her off like that was a certain death sentence. We just didn't have the heart. Over the years she has mellowed. She no longer lies in wait to pounce out of nowhere in order to bite our toes and ankles. She's quite patient and loving now. Her only downside is her long, thick coat that mats easily. Well, that and her chronic dandruff. Fortunately the dandruff only comes out when Yvonne gives Gracie a buzz cut, which is meant to cut down on the shedding and the mats. Gracie looks pretty goofy with a haircut, but that's what we do.
Then there's Katie. She's the tomboy Black Lab. She is one of those Labs that is rather small and lean, but her bark is as big as any male I've heard. It's her bark that makes her a tomboy. We've had her for three years now. Ironically (or, maybe not so ironically), I got her from the Humane Society. She cost $37.50, spayed and all. I just happened to drop by on the day of the Society's pet sale. That's no lie; a dog and cat sale.
Of all the dogs in jail that day, she was the only one standing quietly in her kennel. The rest were yelling at me, doing their best to get my attention. Katie got my attention, all right: first, by being a Black Lab, and second, by being so well behaved. She was this beautiful creature, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, crying out to me, "Save me from this insanity." I fell for her line completely. I folded like a lawn chair.
After going through the Humane Society's getting-to-know each other routine, I paid the 37 bucks and took her home. What does this petite, well-mannered dog do the first thing upon entering our bedroom? She jumped right on the bed. That seemed an odd thing to do for a dog that the Humane Society said was kept outside all the time and pretty much ignored by her owners.
She's a smart dog and is very affectionate. She loves to cuddle up, and if she could get close enough to get right inside of you she would. She's also a creature of habit. I have a book I haven't read yet that talks about dogs being autistic. People with autism thrive on very exact routines. That's just how Katie is. She probably is autistic. An example of her tendency toward being routine bound has to do with her eating time. She eats at 7:00 p.m. If I forget to feed her, she comes around nosing herself right in the center of my attention. It doesn't matter what I'm doing. If it's 7:00, she's right there. If I feed her at 6:00 or 6:30 she generally ignores the food until it's closer to 7:00. Then she has to eat in the same room I'm in. If I'm in the bedroom and her dish is out in the computer area, she takes a mouthful of kibble and carries it in to where I am, drops it on the floor, and crunches away, smacking her lips. Then she goes back for more. If we are gone for the evening and have left food out for her, she doesn't touch it until we return. She's nuts.
Along with her weird eating habits, she poops exactly twice a day: once in the morning before Yvonne goes to work, and once in the evening. We buy a premium brand of dog food for her. That's because the cheap stuff gives her bad diarrhea. We can't have any of that, now can we? I buy the stuff her system tolerates best from Pet Smart. It's chicken and oatmeal for dogs with sensitive stomachs. I buy the 40 pound bag.
This evening, as I carried the most recent purchase slung over my shoulder out to the car, I said to Yvonne, "You know, all this is is unprocessed dog poop," and, "I'll bet for every pound she eats, she produces half again more in poop." Producing more output than input just has to violate some law of physics. It has to be a physical impossibility to get out of a closed system more than is put into it, yet that seems to be the reality.
Now, here's something I just don't get: They say that dogs fed the premium brands produce less poop. I'd like to know how she could possibly produce any more than she does? I'd hate to see her production quota if she only ate the cheap stuff like Purina Dog Chow or KalKan.
