My dog is pissed at me and quite frankly, I don’t blame him.
The girls and I went to the pet food store to buy him a new bed for Christmas. The one he uses has a detachable pad, and every time he wants to lie down he paws at it for a good fourteen minutes, trying to ball it up into a configuration known only to him. Between the instinctive circling and the neurotic pawing, there are times when he ends up with one of his paws entirely twisted into a rosette he’s made out of bed pad, whining for me to help free his limb. It’s just weird. So I wanted to get him a new bed that will present less of a mental challenge.
As we walked down the display toward the beds, though, I saw this product. The bright colors and contours stopped me in my tracks and I pulled a box down to read it.
According to the packaging, it’s designed to help dogs who are “rapid eaters.” To say Achilles is a Rapid Eater is like saying Taylor Swift had a decent year in 2014, music wise. Twice a day, the dog eats 1.5 cups of kibble in approximately 1.5 bites. Until I read the box I had no idea that such speed-eating can lead to obesity and gastric dilatation-volvulus, whatever that is (it definitely sounds bad.) The ridges and contours of the Slo-Bowl are meant to emulate how a dog would eat in the wild – little bits of food at a time, using canine wit to trap and eat small amounts.
See how happy this German Shepherd is as he lounges joyfully next to his Slo-Bowl? We decided we owed it to its compatriot, our German Shorthaired Pointer, to buy the bowl and to not even wait for Christmas to let him use it. That’s how much we love him.
The girls and I ceremoniously brought the new bowl at dinner that first night and stood around him in a circle to watch Achilles’ reaction. Because I am fluent in Achilles, I can translate the thought process:
“Hi guys, thanks for dinner!” Mashes his face into dish.
“Wait, what?” Blink, blink.
“WHAT?” Looks at us, eyes wide.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?” Looks rapidly from us, to bowl, to us, to bowl.
It’s ok, buddy, go ahead and eat! That’s your fancy new dish!
Blink, blink. “WHY? Just, WHY?”
First he barked at the dish. Then he looked at us again. Then he barked again at the dish. (Had this been a normal, unmaze-like dish of food, dinner would have already been over by this point.)
Then he pawed at it in an effort to pull it out into the middle of the kitchen so he’d have room to maneuver, but the Slo-Bowl manufacturers knew that was coming and put rubber on the bottom so he was denied even that assist.
Finally, impelled by long seconds of sheer starvation, Achilles started eating. He’d stop every few minutes to stare at the bowl and us again, but he was kind of getting the hang of it. The girls wandered away as the feeding went into the 16th minute. This was definitely meeting the goal of slowing down the mealtime and preventing gastric dilatation-volvulus, whatever that is (it definitely sounds bad.)
Then Achilles got down to the last ¼ cup of food, and to the end of his last nerve. He refused to do the work necessary to get the food out. He just barked at the dish until I helped him by tipping it over onto the floor so he could get the very last bites (which he ate in .003 seconds.)
And that now is his mealtime. Speed eating replaced by anger eating followed by frustration barking and eating off the floor.
He’s safe from the perils of gastric dilatation. And all it cost us was his unconditional love.
I swear I’ve heard the dog humming this quietly after his meals.