Two years ago, my son adopted a dog. We all agreed she had the ugliest face we had ever seen, canine or otherwise.
She came christened with the name Abby, a moniker that in the judgment of the entire family should only be used for cute human babies. We universally decided another name was needed.
I suggested Gránna, which is Irish for ugly. We tried it for a while, but, wisely, the dog refused to respond.
In her mind, she was Abby the magnificent, the finest, most beautiful dog in the world, and, lo and behold, we soon began to agree. Well, almost.
Adorable though I now find her, I still think she is too strong a character for such a diminutive name.
She soon exhibited such an engaging personality that we were all won over. She is way too smart, way too funny and way too naughty—the last trait indulged because of the first two characteristics.
Abby’s evolution in our lives made me think about how dogs—and cats, too, if truth be known—took themselves out of the cold and wet of the wild, transformed themselves into useful tools for mankind, and then, slowly, ever so slowly, turned into warm and fuzzy tyrants.
They are true “wheedle warriors,” able to persuade us to give them anything they want using only the pure power of their charm.
Abby, for instance, came into our lives from an undesirable environment. Her previous owners either hadn’t been able to keep her or had decided they did not want the responsibility.
Nevertheless, this unwanted little dog arrived with a bag full of her own possessions—toys, leashes and harnesses purchased at no small expense.
Studies have shown that Americans, who own more pets and invest more heavily in them every year, spent $136.8 billion on their pets in 2022, up 10.68 percent from 2021. Some owners even report that they have cut back on meeting their own needs to provide for their animals.
In a Forbes Advisor survey, more than 60 percent of respondents said they have cut back on home improvements, experiences, basic necessities and non-essential items to cover the cost of dog ownership, which is estimated at $376 a month or $4,512 a year. Throw in one encounter with a porcupine—Abby’s first misadventure—and that sum leaps to $5,512.
Pet food, in particular, seems to be adding to monthly costs. I, personally, feed two very pampered cats and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what they will eat.
The pet food manufacturers are savvy. They know how much we love our friendly felines, and they make us feel good by labeling their foods with gourmet descriptions.
Pick up a can of “Mousse Beef in a Halo of Savory Gravy Pate” and it almost seems like you should break out the Irish linen and polish the sterling candlesticks.
And, of course, the prices mirror the apparent elegance. A 2.5-ounce can costs between $1.29 and $1.49. Some cat foods, when you consider their unit price, cost $10 or more a pound. And those savory little treats we like to buy them? Look at the unit price—$19 to $21 a pound!
Sometimes, the line between our lives and theirs gets a little fuzzy.
In 2022, a New York City Italian restaurant invited its patrons to enjoy “human-friendly dishes inspired by Fancy Feast” cat food. The press release said, “Gatto Bianco will bring the mealtime experience of cats to life for cat owners,” promising, “The chefs will provide guests an inside look at the detail and expertise that goes into crafting each Fancy Feast recipe through a variety of delectable dishes and culinary exercises.”
The chefs contended the human food that would allow cat owners to “understand how their cats experience food –from flavor, to texture, to form – in a way that only Fancy Feast can.”
Yecch! I don’t even like to touch cat food and neither do my pets.
I usually feed what they won’t eat to my pet vultures and even Ma and Pa Kettle occasionally say it is not fit for consumption.
The FDA allows feed grade meat ingredients to be sourced from diseased animals and non-slaughtered decomposing animal carcasses. The FDA does not require pet feed manufacturers to say where they get their meat and ingredients are not required to be refrigerated nor do the manufactured products have to meet human food safety standards.
Amazingly, we have found it cheaper to feed our cats cut up frozen shrimp—at $10 a pound it’s no more expensive than cat food. They eat it up and there isn’t 50 cents to a dollar’s-worth of wasted food moldering in the dish.
My obsessively frugal son has decided he can’t feed Abby canned food anymore and is spending $50 a bag for high-quality, frozen bison meat.
So, what do humans get out of this lop-sided arrangement with our animal companions? Why do we lavish such care on them, take such pleasure in their company and mourn them as family members when their all-too brief lives end?
Because, in a world filled with stress, self-aggrandizement, selfishness and hate, they are honest. They give unconditional love and at the same time tell us exactly how they feel. No dog is going to tell you five years later that it has been harboring a resentment for something you said in passing.
Pets are known to decrease stress, improve heart health and even help children with their emotional and social skills. They are used in prison to help prisoners learn empathy and compassion, and in nursing homes to raise the spirits of the old and ill. In a society where just under half the population lives alone, they bring companionship and joy.
Come to think of it, that’s a pretty fair trade-off: We offer them shelter, food, medical care and security and they give us their souls. I’ll take that any day.
Kathryn Boughton is the editor of the Kent Good Times Dispatch. The view she shares in this column does not necessarily represent Kent News, Inc., the parent company of the KGTD.
