My Dog’s Personalized, Human Grade Meat Dog Food
I’m so disappointed. I received my first delivery of the “tested on humans” dog food I signed up for on the internet for my special boy and my best friend, Arno.
“Arno’s Beef Dinner,” it said on one bag. “Arno’s Favorite Chicken Delight,” it said on another.
Arno is very happy about these personalized food pouches, even though he can’t read. Every time I show them to him he jumps up and down.
I mean, this is human-grade meat and veggies. That’s what they say anyway. So, obviously, I’ve been tempted to try it since I got the delivery.
Farm- to-Dog-Dish Food Sourcing
The company advertises that it has special relationships with organic farmers, so that every recipe is artisanal, curated, hand-picked and pretentious, which I think Arno really loves.
My dog is very pretentious. Sometimes he’ll encounter another dog, and I swear he turns up his nose, because he thinks he’s superior to lesser breeds.
Arno is a Pointer, see. He thinks he’s special because he can point his nose in the direction of the animal being hunted. And other breeds can’t do that. Only select pointing breeds and aristocratic dogs.
And believe me, Arno is consistent about his pointing. To the “point” that it really irritates me sometimes. Because it seems “pointless” for a dog to be pointing when he’s not in a field or woods somewhere.
Recently, he’s been standing stiff as a board with his tail up, pointing his beautiful muzzle directly at my fridge, where the pretentious, artisanal, hand-picked, organic food is kept.
The food with his name on it.
“Alright, Arno,” I’ll say. “Cut the shit. You’ve got two more hours till dinner time so go outside and kill a squirrel.”
Arno does like to eat squirrels, I’m ashamed to say. He’s a murderer.
When I say eat, I mean, he takes a few bites out of the furry thing. Maybe he even spits it out, I don’t know. But even though he doesn’t seem crazy about the taste of squirrel, he’s still mad about the hunt.
Pointers live to hunt, and to please their owners.
Arno does that beautifully when we go to the dog park. I’ll give him the heads up when I see a pretty person, and Arno will immediately go over there and strike up an ass-sniff with the pretty woman or man’s dog. That’s a great ice-breaker, you know.
“Hey, looks like my dog is getting to know your dog,” I’ll say, and we’ll both look at the ass sniffing.
“His name is Arno, what’s your dog’s name.”
And, a few moments later, me and the pretty pet owner will be exchanging digits.
Well done Arno!
But I digress.
Back to the Human-Grade Meat
Not only is the food farm-to-table, the packaging is completely eco-friendly. I guess that means the plastic is recycled or recyclable or something. I scoured the website and couldn’t really find an explanation of how a plastic pouch with a sticker on it is eco-friendly.
But I don’t think Arno really cares about ecology, I’m sorry to say. When he was a puppy he used to throw the garbage all over my house if I didn’t lock it up. And when I take him for a walk and he takes a crap, he kind of shakes his head at me when I pick up his poop in the poop bag. “Woman,” he seems to say, “This obsession with cleanliness, it’s not healthy. Put my poop down. Leave it there on the sidewalk where it belongs.”
To get back to the dog food — I really thought was going to look like steak or lamb or something lovely. But it more or less looks like goulash.
I kind of like goulash.
But when I smelled it, it more or less smelled like Alpo.
Come on, guys. I just forked over a few hundred bucks. And it smells like Alpo?
I brought a forkful to my mouth, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to eat it. Moreover, Arno kind of growled at me, like “Keep your mouth off my expensive artisanal hoity-toity dog food, bitch.”
Now, I don’t mind him calling me a bitch, because of course that’s how male dogs refer to their females.
I don’t think he means anything derogatory by it.
Do you Arno?
Come here my baby!! Let mama give you a big kiss.
I love to kiss my dog, and I guess I have tasted some of this pretentious dogfood through his kisses when I give him a smooch after dinner or breakfast.
My boyfriend is obscenely jealous of Arno.
“You’re french kissing him, Christine! Gross!”
I’m not French kissing him, trust me. Sure, sometimes it’s an open-mouthed kiss, but there is never any tongue. I swear.
Then when I rub his tum tum my boyfriend gets very antsy when I get near his cock.
“Christine, you’re rubbing his cock!”
No I am not! I’m rubbing near his cock, jeez, you’re a nag. I would never molest my pooch. We’re intimate but we have good boundaries.
Alright, Arno licked my pussy once, but I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t think he does either.
I was just lying there and all of a sudden he licked it. I yelled at him. We were both ashamed afterwards.
But I digress again.
Back to the food! I mean it this time!
OK, so I finally got up my courage and I tasted a spoonful of Arno’s Lamb Recipe.
I didn’t spit it out. It wasn’t that gross.
But if I had been at a restaurant, I think I would have sent it back. Maybe put on my best Gordon Ramsey accent.
“Waiter, this tastes like dog’s dinner!”
So Arno doesn’t need to worry that I’ll be bogarting his Arno’s Special Recipe.
I have to say, his health, energy level and mood seem to have improved like a thousand percent since I put him on this expensive crap.
There’s something to it, obviously.
It’s just not for us two-leggers.