16. You Can Howl if You Want to (Eat with Enthusiasm)
When my sisters and I were kids and still lacked the self-consciousness acquired by living through high school, we’d enthuse wildly over any new and delicious food (this was back in the days when food was real, and still delicious).
Mashed potatoes with butter and milk would have us “ooh”ing and “ahhh”ing in anticipation. When my dad (who was a butcher) prepared his famous “mixed grill” for Sunday brunch–bacon, kielbasa, hot dogs, lamb chops and a hunk of filet mignon–we’d clap our hands with glee. And when we baked chocolate chip cookies with Mum (a tradition that began when I was six), the lip-smacking and finger-licking involved was positively manic.
Cue my twenties and my first boyfriend (let’s call him “Mochi”). After the initial shimmer wore off our relationship, one evening about three months in, we were at a restaurant for what began as a lovely meal. About halfway through, he paused, cocked his head and grimaced.
“You do realize that you make noises when you eat, right?”
Noises? Was I eating with my mouth open? Was I clacking my teeth? Was I snorting?
At my quizzical look, he went on, “Yeah. Like, after every few bites, you go, ‘Mmmm.’ It’s kind of distracting.”
I was mortified. This was an entirely unwitting response, a hangover from my childhood years when vocal appreciation of food was perfectly normal (or, at least, irrelevant). Apparently, not so much when you’re dating.
That was the moment I knew I’d never again audibly convey my reaction to the particular dish I was eating. (It was also the moment I knew it was time to break up with Mochi).
Always impatient when it comes to food. . . .
When I observe Zoey scarfing her food, it’s clear that humans’ propensity to suppress any loud or unconventional reactions to our nourishment (or other delights) never made its way to dogs.
How often have you seen a grown-ass adult dig into a plate of pasta, so lost in pure sensory joy of the experience that they slurp and guzzle with abandon, unaware of splatters of sauce on their mouth, cheek and chest?
No, it takes a dog for that kind of wantonness.
Zoey is the epitome of “dog who loves food.” This is the highest level of alimentary adulation within the canine world, mind you, since by virtue of just being a dog, she already loves food.
“It’s all good, Mum. . . . “
This is a dog who, when told to “sit” in order to receive a treat for good behavior, can’t help but sweep the floor with her furiously wagging tail. This is a dog who barks and howls if you are 3.7 seconds too slow in dishing out her breakfast. This is a dog who swooped in on her sister’s empty bowl every single mealtime, just in case there were some wayward crumbs on the ground.
And this is the dog who, while gorging with gusto, will sometimes snort and cough because she just inhaled ground sweet potato and apple up her nose with the excitement of it all.
Of all the dogs I’ve known (and by now there have been many), Zoey is by far the most enthusiastic eater.
Zoey’s 3rd birthday “cake.”
Never mind lip-smacking; her excitement rivals the roar of the Stanley Cup crowd cheering the underdogs on home ice (anyone old enough to have seen the Los Angeles Kings nab the Stanley Cup in 1991?).
For instance, in the mornings when I’m about to cut a cube of cheese as a post-breakfast digestive, Zoey is literally incapable of containing her elation. She hops up on her hind legs, bunny-style, unable to remain earthbound at the prospect of morning cheddar.
Or how about when she’s a “good girl!” and spies the liver treat in my hand? If I’m not quick enough on the draw, she spins in circles like a cartoon Tasmanian Devil, finally stopping to grab the hunk of meat from my palm.
“Fresh and crunchy, Mum. . . “
I kind of like it, to be honest. I mean, when did we humans lose that unbridled enthusiasm for eating? Oh, sure, many of us are frenzied and copious consumers, but that’s not the same thing. Do we actually enjoy it?
When did we lose our true joy in food? Was it when, as teenagers, the boys mocked us because we were too fat (just me?)? Was it when our parents berated us because it was “unbecoming” or “unladylike” to eat too exuberantly? Was it when we found out that Kiera Knightley was a size 00 (yes, that’s a thing)? Or was it maybe when our first boyfriend (whose grades, by the way, were always lower than ours) told us we made too much noise while eating?
For whatever reason, that pure, untainted glee over food seems to diminish for most people as they navigate from childhood through adulthood. And that’s a shame.
I’d like to propose that we all tap into Zoey’s rapture this week when it comes to eating. Clap your hands when you see it arrive at the table, if you are so inclined. If it’s a favorite of yours, dive in and savor every morsel. Smack your lips (old boyfriends be damned).
Let’s EAT, mofos!
Yes, she even eats. . . . tofu.
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Follow up to last week’s topic: Accept the Inevitable. Did you give it a go?
The Universe is kind of a wacky little prankster, isn’t it? (If the last three years alone haven’t convinced you of that. . . well, not sure what will).
In the case of last week’s challenge, the Universe must have asked itself, “Ah, Universe, is Ricki really sincere in her desire to embrace life’s inevitable challenges and hardships? Does she truly wish to surrender to those events in her life over which she has no control? Hmmm, perhaps we need to deliver a test. . . “
Then, after assuring itself that “Yes, let’s deliver a test,” the Universe must have continued to ponder: “So let’s see now, a simple test would be, well, too simple for our dear gal Ricki. I know! How about we send a test that will truly push the limits of her abilities? Truly force the need for a decision on her part, at the same time providing something both timely and historic? Aha! Yes, now we have it. . . “
(I know. Pretty loquacious, that Universe).
So guess what that cheeky little Universe did?
It sent me Covid!
And not just any run of the mill Covid, either. No sirree. It sent me a “knock-you-off-your-feet,” “You-will-sleep-for-eight-days-straight,” and “you’ll-have-no-energy-for-anything-not-even-watching-TV” variant of Covid.
By the end of Day One, I sensed I might be in trouble. Still, I remained optimistic. I had a client call scheduled the following day. When the hubs laughed at my suggestion that I’d take the call, I retorted, “I’ll just rest up and drink tea right before. I’ll manage.”
Twelve seconds into the call, the client remarked, “You don’t sound very good. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to reschedule?” They were kind enough to commiserate about the illness and share that when they and their partner had been sick with it, “It took three full weeks to feel better.” I thanked them profusely (but of course I knew that wouldn’t be the case with me).
When my doctor told me during our phone consult that she’d had it last winter and it took her six weeks to recover, I thanked her for the warning (but of course I knew that wouldn’t be the case with me).
By Day Three, I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I shrugged my shoulders (well, only halfway because I was already so weak) and surrendered to it.
You want me to sleep 24/7, Universe? You want my body so weak I can barely make it to the bathroom? You want me to open my eyes, look around, and decide I had used all my available energy already? Okay! YOU WIN! I will rest and sleep and drink . . . . UNTIL I FEEL BETTER!
Each day when I finally roused myself to take my slew of supplements or drink my hot lemon water, I checked in with my body. Not ready yet? Okay, more sleep!
I had no idea a human body could require sleep for 12 hours a day AND ALSO 12 hours a night. For eight full days.
Now that I’m finally feeling as if I can stay awake more than ten minutes at a time, I can honestly say it was a really good lesson.
First, I learned that I really can surrender to the demands of Mother Nature and those of my own body in a way that allows me to truly rest and recover. Nice.
I learned that the hubs can buy groceries when necessary (though, seriously? Six bucks for hummus??). Note taken.
I learned that Zoey is truly a “cuddle dog” (apparently the nickname for many cattle dogs) who slept loyally by my side almost every moment of the day until I recovered. (After that, she slept loyally by my side all day as I worked in my office). Bonus.
And perhaps most importantly, I learned that the world doesn’t end if I’m off my phone and don’t answer emails immediately for a few days. Win!
Did you attempt to give in to the inevitable last week? What did you manage to accept without undue resistance?
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Now over to you. . . I’d love to hear what you think. Please leave a comment, answer a question, or let me know your experience!
What is your favorite food from childhood? Is it still a favorite?
What’s the best compliment anyone ever gave you about something you cooked?
Have you had Covid? How long did yours last?
As always, thank you for reading. If you enjoy Be the Dog, please consider recommending it to someone else–or becoming a paid subscriber to support me and my writing. I’d be eternally grateful either way!