Give a Dog a Bone

I have a Tucker dilemma . . .

Over the last month or so Tucker and I have been having a battle of wills.  Sort of.
At first I wasn't sure that's what was happening, but now I think that's what it is, and it all started around Thanksgiving. 

Those of you who think I totally hate Tucker should be pleased to hear that he frequently benefits from my exploits in the kitchen. When I'm cooking I often toss him a scrap of cheese, a bit of gristly meat that we people wouldn't want, a little bit of egg, etc—but only things I know a dog should eat and would be fairly good for him (unlike my kids who've been known to toss him a bit of pocket-lint and then laugh while he snarfs it up).  In fact, I've done this often enough that whenever I go into the kitchen he will now go sit on the top of the stairs and watch me hopefully until I leave the kitchen again.  Sometimes he does the cute dog-face thing; sometimes it works out for him, sometimes not.

About Thanksgiving time . . .   See, every time I cook a turkey—after we've carved it and had our turkey feast, and then had turkey sandwiches for the next day or two—I take the carcass and boil it up to make turkey soup.  After about three hours of boiling, any bits of meat that were left on the bird will come off easily and you have a fabulous, delicious broth, too.  Yum!  So this Thanksgiving, as always, I cooked my broth, strained it, and saved the meat off of the bones for the soup.  And, as always, there was a lot of skin and cartilage left over.  And, as I often do, I gave those things to Tucker.  So on that particular night Tucker got enough turkey to fill his dog dish generously—since he hadn't eaten his regular meal yet, I thought I'd let him have a turkey-goo dinner.  And boy, did he love it!

Well a week or so after Thanksgiving I noticed that Tucker wasn't so keen on eating his dog food.  This is the exact. same. food we've been buying ever since we got him a couple years ago—the same food he practically inhales with his entire back end wagging for the whole five seconds it takes him to eat it.  The same food he searches the floor so carefully for after he's emptied his bowl.  Weird.  But I remembered that when we first got him he did express a distaste for the very first brand of dog food we ever bought—wouldn't touch it (we returned it and got a different brand). So maybe he was tired of his regular brand now.  ??  When it ran out, during the first week of December, I bought a different brand.   Again, he nibbled at it, but didn't really eat much.  At first I didn't really notice . . .  the holidays, you know.

Tucker drops one ball, and waits expectantly for Brandon to throw the next one.

But when I told the kids to feed him one morning and their answer was, "He still hasn't eaten his food from yesterday morning," I took notice.  For the next two weeks Tucker would not eat his dog chow. I consider dogs to be pretty much the biggest gluttons I've ever seen (next to humans—humans know better than to overeat or eat stuff that's bad for them; dogs don't).  So, yeah, I worried when our dog wasn't eating his food.  I kept an eye on him.  He wasn't losing weight, he wasn't vomiting or having diarrhea, he was still bright-eyed and playing ball with the kids, and he was still begging mightily for—and gobbling up—anything I'd toss his way.  I wondered, "Is he sick?  He doesn't seem sick.  Did he swallow a sewing pin during one of his floor scavenging sessions?"  Worrisome.


I contemplated Tucker's behavior throughout the Christmas celebrations; he seemed perfectly healthy except for the not eating thing.   I  knew that he was getting more scraps and leftovers than usual, but I didn't think they amounted to two whole doggy meals each day.  Or did they?  Then I noticed something else:  Bruce tossed about five teeny-tiny bits of ham in with Tucker's food one day (seriously, not one of them was bigger than about a quarter inch).  And Tucker very meticulously licked out the ham and left all the rest of his dog food there.  Hmm.  Could Tucker be on some kind of a hunger strike?

"Here, eat your food, Tucker!"
(he didn't)

No!  Not a dog!  I kept watching him, but I also decided to dig in my heels—no. more. scraps!  But last Friday he was looking so pathetic, and I was worried enough about him not really eating in such a long time, that I gave him the scraps of spaghetti that my girls hadn't finished that night.  Sure enough, he snarfed it up, wagging his entire back end, in about five seconds.  And he wasn't sick afterward, either.  So I really did dig in my heels:  NO more scraps.  Period.  I stuck it out for the whole weekend, and so did he.

On Monday he was just annoying me.  He still refused to eat, and he was moping around the house giving me pathetic, sad dog-face all day, and begging, begging, begging (even though his dish was full of clean, "fresh" dog-food).  The very last straw came when he started licking my hand every time I walked by.  Eeeeeeewww!  Ugh! I've been kissed by a dog! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some iodine!

The weather being unseasonably warm, I sent him out to the garage. After a while we let him back in the house.  And guess what?  After about an hour of good behavior, he went right over and ate up his dog food without any fuss.  And he's been eating it ever since.

The dilemma?

I just boiled up some beef ribs to make a nice broth for tomorrow.  There's really nothing to them but cartilage and connective tissue—just some nice, big bones that a dog would love.  Should I give him one or not?