Stirring, the melted cheese is spread amongst the morsels of the main entree to ensure the perfect balance of creamy cheddar with the meat dish. If done correctly each bite should contain just the right amount of each resulting in a flavour explosion on the tongue.
Or it’s what I assume as I have never tried this particular dish.
Is this a special dish for a connoisseur of fine food or someone we desire to impress?
No, and yes.
This carefully prepared dish is for Marin…
Our dog.
All through my life, I have owned big dogs (all Rottweilers and one German Shepherd/Kelpie mix) except for Lizzie, a medium-sized Beagle/Jack Russell who was my son’s choice when he turned 9. One day, I will write a post about the folly of parents who purchase animals for their children, but today, I will focus on my own folly…having trouble figuring out how to spell folly…thank goodness for spell check…I was writing folley. I will also one day write a post about who owns who in the dog-human relationship…spoiler alert…in our family, the dog always wins.
Being a self-described big dog person, when it comes to small dogs and their people, I have observed the relationship from afar with smug amusement. In a giant stereotypical generalization of all little dogs (my apologies to those who fall outside of this tiny box), it’s a foreign world involving seasonal clothing, fussing about diet due to extreme pickiness, and the constant need to survey the outdoors for dangers ready to carry one’s pet off, especially from the sky.
Little dogs are an incredible amount of work.
Have I mentioned that the Universe has a sense of humor and really has a giggle whenever I feel smug over anything? Not too many people know the purpose of their life journey. I do…and it’s humility. In my past life, I must have been incredibly pretentious.
Nonetheless, here we are. As I detailed in a past post, through a series of universally orchestrated events, our world shifted to orbit a new sun…a 10-pound Chiweenie named Marin.
On reviewing Marin’s time with us recently, I realized how much Marin’s ever-evolving diet really depicts the nature of little dogs. It’s an exciting ride. Hold on to your drink…No, seriously, hold onto your drink in case Marin likes it and you can share.
Marin arrives to live with our family. She is scared. She is skittish. We give her space and offer her food often. She does not want to eat. I am patient and continue to give her space and tough love. She will eat when she is ready.
A few days later, Marin hasn’t eaten much. I panic as she looks like she has lost a little weight. I run to our local pet store and purchase a few cans of wet food for small dogs at $4 to $6 a can about the size of a can of tuna. Some marketing genius has the number of little dog owners.
Marin has decided to accept one of my offerings. In confident celebration, I buy 12 of the same kind. She turns her nose up at the same food the next day.
After much trial and error and much discussion with past feeders of Marin, I discover that Marin likes poultry flavors the best without peas with a preference for shredded meat. I feel some success and buy 12 cans of another brand fulfilling all these criteria.
Lizzie (Beagle/Jack Russel) and later on Ronnie (German Shepherd/Kelpie) become a problem when Marin is being fed so we shut Marin in a room by herself. Marin does not like to dine on her own. I decide the next best thing is to elevate her and she dines on the bed where she snarls at any dogs that come near. They respect her anger which is more than I can say for myself. There is nothing cuter than 10 pounds of snarl. I just can’t take her seriously.
Marin decides she does not like shredded chicken and has decided to go with a cheap grocery store brand.
Marin does not like any food and so we add chicken to her food to sweeten the deal.
Chicken is boring. Marin now wants cheese in her food.
Marin no longer likes to feed herself. She likes small spoonfuls placed in her proximity.
Marin decides she does not like me to be the one to feed her. Son and daughter alternate turns feeding her…still on my bed…with cheese in her food.
Walk in one day to find my son dropping food from above…manna from heaven…says she eats better that way.
Marin has decided she does not like to eat her food cold or from above. Food is microwaved with cheese, and my son is demoted from feeding duty as he starts to wonder aloud if she will eat it better if it falls from her head.
Marin decides she likes my daughter to feed her best. Daughter discovers that Marin likes her food heated really hot and then cooled with cheese in it served in tiny spoonfuls where each spoonful must contain cheese. I get criticized when assembling Marin’s meal when I do not put in enough cheese or the wrong kind. Marin likes a medium cheddar or a white cheddar, not processed, cream, or Laughing Cow types.
Marin occasionally keeps us from too much comfort by not eating, and on those days, I head to bed, and while reading my book, feed Marin kibble like popcorn, piece by piece, to get some nutrients into her.
This is where we are at today. Next week, we’ll be somewhere different. I quake to think how much more complicated her dinner routine can be. However, when the microwave beeps around the dinner hour, Marin can be seen bee-lining it for the bedroom, ready to be served in the manner she is accustomed to.
I am fully immersed.
And as the Universe snickers, I have come to understand I am now one of them. I am a little dog person. My life as an independent woman is over. I now have a co-dependent relationship with a 10-pound dog. My waking hours are spent watching the skies for large birds of prey and a good day is determined by how much she eats.
Even as I write these words, I feel a chill. Marin is asleep on the couch, but I can feel the first hints of autumn.
Time to get out Marin’s sweaters and her electric blanket.
Update: It has been discovered that Marin enjoys dining on the couch now. Close enough so the dogs (Lizzie and Ronnie) feel jealous and far enough that she can snarl with the knowledge that they wouldn’t dare.
I only eat organic, top of line, limited ingredient dog food,
And my own feces.
- Unknown but probably a quote from Marin (see past post)