I made the executive decision on Friday not to buy dog food until Monday. There were still some kibbles left in the bottom of the dog food container, so it didn’t seem like a big decision at the time. Flash forward to Sunday morning, and I realized that my spatial calculations were off on Friday. There was exactly no dog food left.
I didn’t panic. There was a good supply of dog treats in the house, and I figured that feeding my dog nothing but treats would be like giving a kid ice cream for breakfast. Peanut carried each and every treat from his bowl to the couch (where he normally consumes treats), and breakfast was just a little more comical and labor-intensive than usual. I don’t think he minded.
The thing is, Peanut has a tender stomach. If he gets too hungry, he throws up bile. It’s really lovely for both of us–nothing like a little pre-dinner vomit a few times a month. Over the last couple of years, I figured out that fancy dog food is easier on his stomach, so he gets the good stuff to keep the grossness and unhappiness from being an almost daily part of our lives.
Without the good food yesterday, Peanut’s stomach went into revolt again. And as the responsible party, there wasn’t much that could have made me feel worse than watching my dog throw up on the side of the road. It was without out a doubt my fault, and I didn’t have a way to solve the problem for at least 24 hours. So three meals of treats, two episodes of sickness, and I’m getting real food for him tonight if it’s the only thing I get done after work.
The redeeming part of the story is all to Peanut’s credit. Despite the disturbances in his daily routine and some serious neglect on Saturday, he was still a trooper this weekend. That’s what I love about dogs (in addition to the floppy ears, the general cuteness and a thousand other things).
Peanut must be aware that I’m his main food source, and he’s probably figured out that I haven’t been on top of that situation for the past few days. Somehow, it doesn’t even cross his mind to be angry at me. I know his little pea brain is probably incapable of reaching complicated conclusions about injustice and personal rights, but sometimes I choose to believe that he’s purposefully wonderful instead of accidentally forgiving.
When I got home from the long day on Saturday, he just reached up his front paw in his favorite gesture of “Please rub my belly!” and all of those hours alone in the house were forgotten. In summary, I have the coolest dog ever, and I promise to pay more attention to the level of kibbles in the dog food container in the future.