We’re going to leave this topic to Ella given her extensive experience.
Ella
My bio at the shelter where mom adopted me said that I had been found in a field in Broomfield. A family had taken me in for a period of time, but their older dog wasn’t a fan of my puppy energy, so they turned me into the shelter. My insatiable hunger and quest for food at all costs was born from my time fending for myself on the streets. I didn’t have to survive on my own for long, but any amount of time not knowing where your next meal is going to come from has a lasting impact on a dog. I was just a puppy after all.
Mom says I was the most food-motivated dog that she had ever met. The dogs that she lived with growing up always had food in their bowls and would just eat whenever they were hungry. Not me. If there was food in my bowl, I ate all of it – it didn’t matter how much food. I would finish whatever was in the bowl in about 30 seconds flat.
I slept in my own bed at night, but in the morning, I would jump up onto mom’s bed to wake her up so I could have breakfast. She thought it would be better for me to go outside and relieve myself first, but I taught her that there was no way I was doing anything until I’d eaten. I got very excited about my meal. Who cares if it’s the same thing every day – it’s food! As a young dog, I would jump and spin until the food hit my bowl, and then devour it as fast as possible. I had a sitter once who used to make me sit down before she would put the food in my bowl. That drove me crazy, but she was tough, and didn’t let me get away with my usual antics.
At dinner time, if mom wasn’t home from work yet, I would go through my doggie door into the back yard and bark to let all of the neighbors know that I was hungry and not sure if mom would ever get home. Inevitably she would show up, sometimes later than usual, and I’d finally get fed.
I looked for (and found) food everywhere. Mom kept my food in a large plastic bin with a latching top. She usually kept it in the laundry closet where I couldn’t get to it since I couldn’t open those doors. There were a couple of times that the door wasn’t shut completely, and I managed to chew that cover enough to pop it open and feast to my heart’s content. I ate so much that I had to lay down, and when mom felt my belly she exclaimed that it was hard as a rock. Even though I felt kind of sick, I still begged for dinner that night. Mom still has that bin with my teeth marks in the top.
One of the times that I got into my food bin I felt so yucky that I had to go find my favorite squeaky toy (lamby). I went in the bedroom and laid on my bed with lamby. Mom wasn’t sure what was up with me until she found the open food container and realized I had overeaten again. My lamby was providing me with comfort. She was my favorite squeaky toy, because her body had four separate squeakers, so I could bite down anywhere and be rewarded with a squeak.
I could open drawers, so mom didn’t keep any food in the lower drawers in our house. One day she left me unattended at a boyfriend’s house, and I figured out that one of the kitchen drawers had a bunch of protein bars in it. I ate about four of five of those high calorie bars, coated in chocolate, which it turns out was a bad idea. Later that night, I threw up in the bedroom closet, which no one was happy about.
Around the holidays one year mom left a bowl of Lindt truffles on the entertainment center in the living room and went to work. She thought it was out of reach for me since the entertainment center was fairly tall, and she had pushed the bowl back. I managed to find a way to get to that bowl, and ate probably eight chocolate truffles. Mom said I must have an iron stomach, because I never got sick after that escapade. Those truffles were delicious!
Mom learned early on not to leave me in the car with any food. On the way to a camping trip mom had to grab something else from the store really quick, so she left me in the car with everything that had already been packed for the trip. While she was gone (only a couple of minutes), I ripped open a bag of hamburger buns and ate all eight of them. Even I was impressed with how quickly I managed to get all of those buns down the hatch. After that day, mom never left me in the car with any food. She would even bring bags of food in with her if she had to run in somewhere when we were on a road trip. She didn’t trust me not to rummage through the bags and help myself.
When we hosted holidays or cookouts at our house, mom had to make sure I wasn’t left unattended with any food, or I would get it. If mom had to leave the room when she was in the middle of cooking, or had left something on the counter out of my reach, I would whine because I was worried that she had forgotten about it. I didn’t want any food to go to waste – that would be a tragedy! This habit of mine came in handy the few times that mom really had forgotten that she left something out.
I was obsessed with food, which meant I was also a persistent beggar. I always watched mom eat, giving her my best sad eyes to let her know that I was starving. If she didn’t pay attention, I would start whining. I stayed close by when anyone was in kitchen, waiting for anything to hit the floor or for mom to hand me some scraps. Mom called me her gluten girl, because I had a special affinity for pizza in particular, and also bread and pasta. I particularly liked crunching away on dry, uncooked pasta.
My motivation for food helped me get my certificate in puppy training school. I was the fastest to complete tasks, because I couldn’t wait to get my treat! In fact, most of my life, I would run through my whole series of known tricks to get my treat. It didn’t matter which one mom was asking me to do, I just did the whole series so I could get it over with and get my reward.
My desire for food got me into plenty of trouble, but the worst was when Dad left me alone in the car with his friend’s backpack. His friend didn’t know about my skills. It didn’t take me long to unzip that backpack and eat his whole bag of chocolate-covered raisins. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to eat raisins, and frankly I didn’t care. I ended up in the pet hospital for a few days after that debacle. Dad hung out with me in the hospital on New Year’s Eve, because he was so worried about me. That’s how I know he really cared, and was a keeper.
As you can see from my experiences, sometimes overindulging in foods, especially certain things, turns out to be a bad idea. You need to make sure you’re getting enough to eat to give you the energy to do all of the fun things you want to do, but be careful not to over do it, or you might get sick.