We Eat Vegetables

At my house, we eat vegetables. If you’re a dog at my house, there are no ham bones, no chicken knuckles, no greasy meatloaf pans. Just vegetables. So, if you’re a dog at my house, you adapt.

I’ll be standing at the kitchen sink, cleaning produce for a salad, and Sugar will hurry in to supervise. When I remove the green Tupperware from the refrigerator, Sugar is frantic. “Tomatoes,” she cries, “radishes, turnips, and celery. Oh, please, please, pleeeese can I have some? I am so good,” she goes on, “better than the other dogs who are worthless and undeserving. Just one bite of turnip and I will forever be your faithful dog.”  So I dole out blemished bits cut from the roots that we will eat in our salad. And Sugar is faithful.

All of the canines in my life eat fruits and vegetables. I think perhaps it’s peer pressure that gets each one hooked. A treat is offered…perhaps a carrot…and Sugar begs for it, cries for it.  Pumpkin stands nearby, expectant. And Brewster, the newest dog in the pack, thinks to himself, “This must be something good.” And, of course, it is. It’s a carrot.

Each dog that comes to the house, either to visit or to stay, goes through the initiation. It happens like this:  Someone’s in the kitchen.  The dogs are begging underfoot.  The Visiting Dog picks up on the energy. Then the veggies come out. Oh boy, treats! Snarfed down by Dog Number One. Gobbled up by Dog Number Two. Inhaled by Dog Number Three. And the Visiting Dog, almost peeing on the floor with anticipation, snatches the last offering and then…. “What is this shit?”

I did not become a vegetarian for my health, I did it for the health of the chickens.  - Isaac Bashevis Singer

Eat your vegetables.