“It’s the most beautiful day outside,” my wife said this past weekend. The windows to the house were open and she was on the porch eating ice cream and doing things Floridians love to do in January when the rest of the country is shoveling snow. No wonder people hate us.
“You can even start to smell spring,” she continued, “which is why I feel especially bad that we’re stinking up the street with the stench of that dog food.”
Homemade dog food, thank you.
“Can you really smell it outside?” I asked, standing over my special concoction, a clothespin pinching off my nostrils.
“Well, I could right before I passed out. Some of the trees have started wilting.”
Boy, that was some powerful stuff.
A bit of an explanation is in order: You may recall that last September my dog was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor. We had it removed, but know it will come back — in fact, it already started re-growing. Unfortunately, that’s just what tumors do. My dog, Chase, however, is doing great and doesn’t really have a care in the world. As far as she’s concerned, it’s our problem, not hers.
But it’s a raw deal knowing there isn’t much more you can do than sit and wait, patting your dog on the head a couple extra times a day to make up for it. I hate the feeling of hopelessness, and helplessness. If it were up to me, I would challenge the tumor to a duel or a marathon … finish it like men.
We wanted to do something, though, and started reading up on more natural dog diets — even vet-recommended recipes that help cancer-afflicted dogs stay healthy. It can’t hurt, I figure, and even if it helps just a little bit, it’s worth it.
So I’ve mixed up a couple of these … look … let’s call them what they are: “stank stews.” They’re full of lightly browned ground beef, some eggs, eye of newt, the backside of a roadkill opossum, carrots and broccoli, a garlic clove (because if you really want a smell that can melt glass, you need garlic) and even tuna.
There are other ingredients, I’m sure, but I can’t remember if I added them thanks to the mushroom cloud that burst from the bowl, rocketing up my sinuses. It was all kind of a fog after that.
“Tell me that’s just the sewer backing up,” begged my wife, holding her nose.
“Oh, no, this it,” I said waving the recipe in the air, which fanned the stench around a bit and blew out a window.
But lo and behold if there wasn’t a little dog drooling by my side, staring up at me with drunk, glassed-over eyes. She looked like she was praying — PRAYING! — that this vile mess was for her. I had to wait until the next morning to test it out, and by that time it had properly fermented in the refrigerator. (The fridge has since turned green, and when I opened the door, the smell leaped out at me, wrestling me to the ground where it stole my wallet.)
The dog floated about the room, high on the fumes. I’ve never actually seen her devour anything so fast — not if it wasn’t garbage on the street or a dead fish at the beach. She licked the bowl. She licked the floor. She then proceeded to lick the outside of the green fridge.
Foul? Yes, but a huge hit.
In fact, such a hit that she now wakes me up in the morning, sitting below the bed staring at me, even barking. It’s her way of saying, “Get me my stink food or I’m peeing on the sofa.”
I think she’s addicted.
But the smell’s too much. I’m worried the neighbors will think we’ve all met with a horrible fate. Or that the studs in the walls will buckle.
So I’m going back to the drawing board and doing a little more research. Maybe I’ll add some of the ingredients in stages — or skip the garlic — so it doesn’t merge into such a malodorous mush.
That is if the dog will let me. There may be no turning back now that she’s hooked on it. Maybe I’m better off getting a Hazmat suit and a military-grade gas mask. Anyone know where I could get one of those?