The Magic of Ham
While walking my dog this morning, on the outskirts of the CVS parking lot we came across an entire, unopened, economy-size pack of hot dogs resting in the grass, as well as an OPENED economy-size pack of lunchmeat. Ham flowed freely from the plastic wrap wound, apparently and surprisingly fresh.
It was dog nirvana. It was winning the Dog Lottery.
Now it's not as though we don't find plenty of food enticements when we go walking. Simon informs me of their suitability for consumption with his enthusiastic attitude, just in case my limited human faculties can't sense their delectableness. There was the 3/4 of a pizza dropped in the bushes - its blackened, curled slices were just getting good, having probably been there no more than a week. There was the small nest of dropped donut holes adorning the sidewalk by the Yum Yum. (I believe his current obsession with donuts and bread products in general began at that moment.) There was the dinner roll that I short-sightedly pulled from his mouth, merely because it was half-covered in the black glossy paint that had been used to spruce up the nearby lamppost. Most heartbreaking of all was the complete, whole, unstarted-in-on burrito in the street whose only problem was that it had been run over - or as Simon would explain it, had no problems whatsoever.
But this was a different case altogether. This was fresh ham freely offered in large quantities. He lunged at it with a gleeful attitude of "There is no way you can argue with this - this stuff is just how you eat it!" He got a few bites in, including the whole piece I peeled from the pack and used to lure him away from the spectacle before he gorged himself. (I figured "lose a small battle, win the war.")
I'm sure his inner vindication at that point knew no bounds. The world must have seemed to him like a magical place. I imagined his brain processing the new possibilities with a tinge of awe: "Dude. Go for a walk = find ham."
It was dog nirvana. It was winning the Dog Lottery.
Now it's not as though we don't find plenty of food enticements when we go walking. Simon informs me of their suitability for consumption with his enthusiastic attitude, just in case my limited human faculties can't sense their delectableness. There was the 3/4 of a pizza dropped in the bushes - its blackened, curled slices were just getting good, having probably been there no more than a week. There was the small nest of dropped donut holes adorning the sidewalk by the Yum Yum. (I believe his current obsession with donuts and bread products in general began at that moment.) There was the dinner roll that I short-sightedly pulled from his mouth, merely because it was half-covered in the black glossy paint that had been used to spruce up the nearby lamppost. Most heartbreaking of all was the complete, whole, unstarted-in-on burrito in the street whose only problem was that it had been run over - or as Simon would explain it, had no problems whatsoever.
But this was a different case altogether. This was fresh ham freely offered in large quantities. He lunged at it with a gleeful attitude of "There is no way you can argue with this - this stuff is just how you eat it!" He got a few bites in, including the whole piece I peeled from the pack and used to lure him away from the spectacle before he gorged himself. (I figured "lose a small battle, win the war.")
I'm sure his inner vindication at that point knew no bounds. The world must have seemed to him like a magical place. I imagined his brain processing the new possibilities with a tinge of awe: "Dude. Go for a walk = find ham."