How to Start Saturday Morning Like a Champ:
I mixed Charlie's food in a small, turquoise, dog bowl. It was mundane at this point, I could do it in my sleep. He gets half a cup of wet food and half a cup of dry food. It then needs to be put in the microwave for thirty seconds. Charlie would never eat something only at room temperature. Not that he ever eats this either. Since being diagnosed with diabetes last year, he seems to have become to pickiest eater I know. Getting Charlie to eat one bowl of food is harder than running a marathon, and definitely more tiring.
After mixing it and warming it to perfection, I put it on the floor and held my breath. Charlie strutted in, very well aware that he is in charge of this moment. I crossed my fingers behind my back and quietly begged him to take a bite. He got close enough that his nose was touching the food and then took two very quick steps backward. He looked up at me with disappointment. As if to say,
"You don't expect me to eat that, do you?" I let out my breath. I had not, in fact, expected him to eat it. He never does. I should have known better.
I started rummaging through the fridge looking for something that might entice him to take a few bites. Over the past several months, I've become an expert in all things food related for dogs. Charlie keeps me sharp. I've bought sauces, sprays, "Petchup" and "Bark-b-que." Nothing works.
"Do you want some eggs? What about if I add ketchup? Sweet potato? Gravy? How about we try a treat, will you eat a treat?" I'm rambling at this point, hoping something I say will pique his interest. I see his ears perk up at the mention of a treat, so I keep going.
"Should we add a treat? Let's add a treat."
I just keep saying the word, trying to coerce him closer and closer to his bowl of food. As I'm talking to him, I start breaking apart pieces of his treat to add to the bowl. I make sure he hears me fiddling with the treat and smells it, the diabetes is causing him to go blind. I add a few pieces to his bowl and step back. I feel like I'm on one of those cooking show challenges and the judges are eyeing my final product negatively. I'm back to crossing my fingers and silently begging over and over in my head. He's walking toward the bowl. He's taking a sniff. He's taking another sniff. And he's taking a bite! Yes! Finally! I have never been so happy to see someone take one bite of food. This is what my life has come to...dancing around the kitchen in excitement because my dog took one bite of breakfast.
No...what's he doing...he's backing away again. I look in the bowl and sigh. Charlie is clearly smarter than me. He's dug around in the bowl sniffing out the treat. He didn't touch the food. He's looking back up at me with disappointment, like I could have done better than that.
"I don't know when you got so arrogant, thinking you were in charge. I'm still the one feeding you, aren't I?"
Charlie stared at me half a second, as if debating whether to listen or not, and then calm as can be turned around and left. I heard from the kitchen as he jumped back up into the bed. Who was I kidding? Of course he's in charge. I sighed loudly and slowly started walking toward the bedroom to convince him to try again. It was 7:15am. If he was going to get his insulin this morning, he needed to finish eating by 8am.
Here goes round two...
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