According to Hofmann: It’s a dog-eat-lobster world
I used to think I had to watch “Star Trek” or “Animal Planet” or “The Jersey Shore” to learn of the similarities and differences between various species, but it turns out a trip to the vet accomplished the same thing.
At the recent appointment for my dog, Oreo, he had to have his shots updated, his blood checked and his poop examined after it was obtained by me at 3 a.m. that day and delivered in three sealed plastic bags.
Gladly, the vet said Oreo was a healthy 3-year-old Australian Shepherd/Border Collie mix, but she did take time to point out something to me.
“Your dog is a fat piece of lard, Mr. Hofmann.”
Of course, she didn’t say it like that. She, like every doctor, took the long road to get to a simple destination.
She started by saying even though Oreo is 3 years of age, heĢƵ really in his late 20s in dog years.
I could never figure out dog years. I used to think you had to just multiply every year of the dogĢƵ life by seven, but, according to the American Veterinary Medical Association, 15 human years equals the first year of a medium-sized dogĢƵ life, then you add nine years to year two and then add five years for every year starting at age 3.
So, in a year or two by my calculations, Oreo will be getting up earlier, complaining about pop music and predicting the weather due to joint inflammation, but I’m bad at math, so there you go.
Anyway, she said while he was only about five pounds overweight, Oreo is well into doggy adulthood and, like all human adults, his metabolism is not what it once was oh so many years ago. The pounds start to pack on easier, and are tougher to lose.
I sucked in my gut, puffed out my chest and told her I didn’t know what she was talking about.
She then asked about OreoĢƵ eating habits – how much food do we give him, for one.
Because we are a lazy family, we bought Oreo this contraption that lets you fill a hopper with dog food, and as the dog eats the food in the tray, more food falls down from the hopper.
The vet said, and I’m paraphrasing, “Bad human! Bad!” and said that will cause Oreo to overeat.
She then asked about snacks.
“I’d love a snack,” I said as my gut succumbed to gravity and hung down.
Turns out, she meant what kind of treats do we give him and how many do we give him. He gets a treat whenever he gives us a cute and pitiful look, so roughly 75 treats per day, by my poor calculations.
It turns out, like the food hopper, that was the wrong answer, and I was smacked on the nose with a newspaper.
“You should only give him treats when you’re teaching him tricks,” she said.
That confused me because she just finished saying he was on his way to becoming an older dog, and I thought you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks.
I really have to reexamine this belief system I have.
The vet could clearly see the confusion and drool on my face and added that, to a dog, a doggy treat is as healthy as a donut is to us.
Good thing we didn’t feed him actual donuts or the vet would have said thatĢƵ as unhealthy as a human eating rusty razor blades out of a used Bio Hazard bag filled with ranch dressing.
It really made me think about the differences between dogs and humans – I mean, they’re a different species, but they are a member of a family like third cousins twice removed. (I could never figure out the second, third or fourth cousin “removed” from the family thing. I thought you just multiply each cousinĢƵ parent by three and divide that by four.)
Anyway, those differences between dogs and humans come to light when they, for example, watch us dress and undress and, boy, do they watch us.
Oreo is both fascinated and I think somewhat disgusted by watching me change in and out of clothing. I know that because I see him staring at me, and I’d like to say he has a look on his face like he ate poop, but dogs like eating poop, so what do I know?
Speaking of having nature call, have you ever had a dog walk in on you while you’re in the bathroom? ItĢƵ like I know heĢƵ thinking, “WhatĢƵ this twisted insanity? Doesn’t he know thereĢƵ a big yard out there where he can do that? And thatĢƵ where I drink my water!”
With so many differences between humans and dogs, I want to end this weekĢƵ column to say that thereĢƵ a similarity between the two, and thatĢƵ the fact that we lie.
The realization hit me when I found myself defensively answering some of the vetĢƵ questions like I answer my own doctorĢƵ questions.
“Feed him from the table? Of course not! We only feed him the top-tier dog food in vacuumed-sealed packages that the store places in special refrigeration units. We know itĢƵ more expensive than caviar-stuffed lobster tails because thatĢƵ one of the ingredients, but money be damned! What kind of backward hayseeds do you take us for?”
And I won’t even begin to entertain the notion that if Oreo could talk, he’d tell the vet the truth.
Many times, I’ve heard things being disturbed in my kitchen only to walk out there to see Oreo backing up from whatever garbage can through which he had been burrowing, acting like nothing happened.
Dogs can be deceptive, too. I don’t know if all animals were born with that instinct, but it seems to be a trick no animal is too old to learn.
According to Hofmann is written by staff reporter Mark Hofmann of Rostraver Township. His books, “Good Mourning! A Guide to Biting the Big One … and Dying, Too” and “Stupid Brain,” are available on Amazon.com.