WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS NAUSEATING CONTENT
Food. It’s important. Greyhounds have a very discerning palette, unlike some dogs who are known to eat anything and everything. People try their best to make mealtimes as interesting as possible, but I say this is unnecessary. Just give us the good quality food we deserve and leave it at that.
The Fairy, for example, likes to hide our food under handfuls of dog food thus forcing us to sort through it and dig for the good stuff. She thinks we enjoy this added challenge whereas we think it just slows the whole process down. Chicken digs around with her nose until she finds the real food, but I have a more efficient method which involves taking the dog food out with my mouth and spitting it on the floor first.
When we eat, we concentrate on our own bowls and there isn’t a problem. When something of high value is involved however, Chicken becomes very possessive and stressed. One day, we managed to acquire a croissant each. I ate mine, but Chicken took hers to her basket and sat on it. She was then unable to leave her basket, for fear that I might steal it. Furthermore, she snapped and barked at me every time I went near her. Fair enough I say, as the croissant was very tempting.
Now let us fast forward to the 18th of February 2017, when The Fairy got it right, and we were given pure chicken for tea. We both ate heartily, but five minutes later, Chicken went out into the garden and vomited the whole lot up. A few seconds later, I decided to go out, and when the door was opened, Chicken pushed passed me and flew out to take up a position just in front of her pile of sick. She then started barking at me, shouting that it was her sick, and therefore I wasn’t allowed to eat it.
Where’s my chicken?
Her possessiveness over high value food even extends to things she has already eaten and subsequently rejected. What on earth made her think I would want to eat the chicken that she had razzed all over the grass? I hasten to add that she didn’t bark at The Fairy when she cleared it up and put it in the bin, so it’s just me that she has a low opinion of. How dare she assume that a thoroughbred of my caliber would eat vomit?
Moral of the story: Don’t come between Chicken and her chicken.
Monty The Great