Spring continues to roll across the landscape, marked by tufts of fur from the heavily molting Wolf Dog. This is from five minutes' brushing:

I put food in one end, and fur comes out all over.

The saving grace these days is, he's much less oily than when I was feeding him commercial dog food. I stopped that long before the poison scare and went to raw meat. He thought we'd won the lottery.

I'll spare you all the hippy-dippy reasons for raw-feeding one's pets. I was just led to the idea when I noticed his teeth yellowing. I inquired of several vets what a cleaning would cost, and the price staggered me. That he would be put under for the procedure didn't surprise me, but I still didn't like it.

Reasoning that wild canines don't see dental hygienists (or enjoy much of a dental plan at all), I thought, Wait, that's it: Nature provides them with dental care built right into their food supply. It's the bones. They crush bones and clean their teeth as a matter of course.

As Providence would have it, my neighbor works for a chicken-processing plant just a few miles away. Sure, she said, we sell raw chicken to people for dog food. Wings, thighs, livers, gizzards—the stuff that gets less than top dollar as people food—available in 20- and 40-lb. boxes at the wholesale rate. Just call ahead and swing by with a cooler.

That was about a year ago. Now it's routine, and he still acts like a puppy at feeding time.

tonight, lying on the floor behind me, he leaps to his feet each time I move. He's nervous with the family away, even though he knows when I'm solo he gets more attentive walks and at least one trip to the dog park.

That, or he's forgotten I walked him two hours ago.

Posted by: Michael Rittenhouse at 08:23 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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