Is there an Olympic event for dogs eating their food? If there isn’t, there should be. Our two hounds would dominate.
We have a male (Thor) half black lab, half gene pool from parts unknown. Our other speed eater, a poor second place finisher, is Pepper (female), half Aussie Shepherd, half Catahoula.
I mock them each morning. “Yo, Pepper, going a little slow today? Thor, do you need a vacuum cleaner to help wipe your bowl clean?”
Seriously, they don’t need any help to prepare for the Dogfood Eating Olympics. Thor is the champion.
My morning routine goes like this: Prepare a quick vitamin drink for myself. Open the canned dog food and watch both canines start to salivate. I’ll look at them, lick my lips, see if they’ll imitate me. If encouraged enough, usually they do.
Their eyes focus on my movements. Their ears perk up when the can opens. They go into their stretching routines as the canned meat is scooped into their bowls. Finally, as the last stage of their warmup, they start beating the walls with their tails in happiness. Oh, to have that perpetual joy to slop it down.
Warmup finished, the bowl goes to the floor with a “clink,” and they pounce. Thor takes the early lead. Pepper licks the bits of canned beef on the side rims of the bowl, kind of like licking the frosting off a cake – eat the best part first.
This gives Thor the edge he doesn’t need. His inhalation capabilities are beyond belief. His tail hammers the cupboard.
By the time I’ve finished my drink and moseyed around the kitchen, I hear them propelling their metal dishes across the floor, clonking into the walls. Bam, clang, bam. Their noses drive their dishes rapidly across the floor, serving as a steering wheel to maneuver their metal receptacles with an energy you can only marvel at when you’re still pulling sleepers from your eyes and wondering what day of the week it is.
Thor emerges as the champion, deciding he must finish and lick the dish to a sparkle before I’ve exited the kitchen to use the facilities. I hear a final bonk against the wall, signifying he’s polished off the morning feast. Then he goes to water dish to fill his camel hump for the morning walk.
“Thor, you pounded it down, buddy. How did you do that? You weren’t really that hungry, were you?,” I say, emerging from the bathroom. He smiles and wags his tail.
Some days I do a fitness routine in our basement. I head downstairs, and Thor hesitates, then thunders down the steps after me. The faint clinking of Pepper’s dish continues as she pulls to the finish line a distant second place, rummaging far into the corner to pin the dish and extricate the last juicy morsels. She’s thorough, so perhaps that is why she isn’t the champion. Style over speed.
Who knows what the Dogfood Eating Olympics “wiping the bowl clean” record is? All I know is that it’s damn fast. Turn around, open the refrigerator, turn on the faucet, rinse out a cup, and WHOOSH, you hear the empty metal dogfood bowl skidding across the floor as Thor dominates the field once again, that dang tail flying side to side, knowing he’s left the competition far behind.
We have a male (Thor) half black lab, half gene pool from parts unknown. Our other speed eater, a poor second place finisher, is Pepper (female), half Aussie Shepherd, half Catahoula.
I mock them each morning. “Yo, Pepper, going a little slow today? Thor, do you need a vacuum cleaner to help wipe your bowl clean?”
Seriously, they don’t need any help to prepare for the Dogfood Eating Olympics. Thor is the champion.
My morning routine goes like this: Prepare a quick vitamin drink for myself. Open the canned dog food and watch both canines start to salivate. I’ll look at them, lick my lips, see if they’ll imitate me. If encouraged enough, usually they do.
Their eyes focus on my movements. Their ears perk up when the can opens. They go into their stretching routines as the canned meat is scooped into their bowls. Finally, as the last stage of their warmup, they start beating the walls with their tails in happiness. Oh, to have that perpetual joy to slop it down.
Warmup finished, the bowl goes to the floor with a “clink,” and they pounce. Thor takes the early lead. Pepper licks the bits of canned beef on the side rims of the bowl, kind of like licking the frosting off a cake – eat the best part first.
This gives Thor the edge he doesn’t need. His inhalation capabilities are beyond belief. His tail hammers the cupboard.
By the time I’ve finished my drink and moseyed around the kitchen, I hear them propelling their metal dishes across the floor, clonking into the walls. Bam, clang, bam. Their noses drive their dishes rapidly across the floor, serving as a steering wheel to maneuver their metal receptacles with an energy you can only marvel at when you’re still pulling sleepers from your eyes and wondering what day of the week it is.
Thor emerges as the champion, deciding he must finish and lick the dish to a sparkle before I’ve exited the kitchen to use the facilities. I hear a final bonk against the wall, signifying he’s polished off the morning feast. Then he goes to water dish to fill his camel hump for the morning walk.
“Thor, you pounded it down, buddy. How did you do that? You weren’t really that hungry, were you?,” I say, emerging from the bathroom. He smiles and wags his tail.
Some days I do a fitness routine in our basement. I head downstairs, and Thor hesitates, then thunders down the steps after me. The faint clinking of Pepper’s dish continues as she pulls to the finish line a distant second place, rummaging far into the corner to pin the dish and extricate the last juicy morsels. She’s thorough, so perhaps that is why she isn’t the champion. Style over speed.
Who knows what the Dogfood Eating Olympics “wiping the bowl clean” record is? All I know is that it’s damn fast. Turn around, open the refrigerator, turn on the faucet, rinse out a cup, and WHOOSH, you hear the empty metal dogfood bowl skidding across the floor as Thor dominates the field once again, that dang tail flying side to side, knowing he’s left the competition far behind.