My little overeater

The vet thinks the problem with Murph's overeating has to do with her having scent hound genes and suckling in a tough litter. There may have been a lot of pups, making the competition for one of mom's nipples a desperate one. Whatever the cause, one thing's certain: Murph is an overeater.

She's not alone, either. We met up with one of her brothers at the Wiggley Field dog park in Chicago late in the summer she came to live with us, and he too was an overeater. He could have been the pup she was leap-frogging to get at the spot on the window where my nose was, because that pup was almost all brown, as was this brother whose name was Jack. When we figured out they were siblings (which was obvious because they were the same mix, at the same age, from the same place and dogs just know--Jack and Murph were all over each other from the moment he had waddled in) Jack's daddy had sighed and said, "Boy...Murph definitely got all the looks in the family."

This was certainly true. Jack was a dishwater brown and didn't have any of Murph's cute markings, like her white, knee-high boots. He was two inches shorter and weighed ten to fifteen pounds more; he was an overstuffed sausage casing of Beagle/Heeler. I'd never seen such an overweight puppy.

"Aww, Jack's a cutie pie." He wiggled over and leaned into my leg for butt scratches. I obliged and slapped him a few times on the side, my slaps reverberating in Jack's considerable padding. "He just needs to lose his baby fat."

Jack's daddy scratched his brow and sighed again. "We can't keep him from eating. He eats everything he can get in his mouth, his toys, the water dish, whatever he can find in the trash can, the trash can...he's going to end up killing himself. We have to keep the trash can on the porch, or he'll eat it, bag and all."

I sort of chuckled at that. Murph had--in one day--tunneled silently through the jumbo dog chow bag and taken six clandestine shits behind the couch, but it was a rare occurrence, so the overeating thing didn't resonate with me much. Plus, she was more obsessed with natural and organic things than synthetics, so I didn't find her appetite to be destructive. The spontaneous pissing thing was my primary concern.

But the seeds had been sown. It was obvious in watching her move around the dog park, hissing and snapping at bemused dogs three times her size at the water dish, hiding every tennis ball in the park in a special secret spot. She was hordeing. When would be the next time she would get at a nipple? Haven't we all wondered that, and gotten possessive? I know I have.

At some point in the near future, I will give Murph what is called a "Kong." This is a rubbery, cone-shaped toy with a hollow middle into which goes peanut butter. Murph will be ecstatic. She will remove every scrap of nut butter from the inside surface of this toy, deftly using her Gene Simmon's like tongue to do so. It will become not only her favorite toy, but a memory of a very tasty synthetic treat. This fond memory of a peanut buttery center will compel her to begin the shark-like eating anything synthetic in nature. Within the year's end I will find the following things in her poop:

-Bottle caps
-The entire makings of a pen (sans ink shaft)
-Styrofoam peanuts
-Tampons
-Toy parts
-Starbucks gift cards
-A My Little Pony
-Glittery wrapping paper
-Rope
-180 tabs of Loratadine
-Calcium pills
-A cell phone charger cord
-Cigarette butts
-Maxie's collar
-Stuffed animal eyes
-Magazines
-CD's
-Condoms

So yeah, I don't really know what to do about this. We've already failed obedience classes, and Murph is now falling out of moving car windows onto freeways. My instincts say, enjoy the time you have left with her. I think they may be correct.

Comments

Posted by: M at October 31, 2006 08:39 PM

Posted by: warrenm at October 31, 2006 09:24 PM

Posted by: nat robbo at November 2, 2006 07:49 AM

Posted by: Imaronin at November 2, 2006 10:46 AM

Posted by: Dave at November 2, 2006 08:33 PM

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