Doggy diet is not to my porky pooch’s taste

AT a time when eat-a-lot pets are experiencing the rough end of human economic fall-out, those lovely people at Dog’s Trust Dublin have sent out a Canine Charter For Human Health to remind us of the mental and physical benefits of dog ownership.

Namely, that dog owners make fewer visits to the doctor, are less stressed, have lower blood pressure and better immune systems. That people who walk their dogs are healthier than non-dog owners, and owning a dog can safeguard against depression (although not as effectively as Prozac, I find). Oh, and dog owners tend to recover quicker from heart attacks, even ones brought on by vet bills.

I read this list aloud to my two dogs, but they aren’t listening. One is shedding in her sleep and the other gnawing intently at my wellies. With considerable determination, she has converted them from the conventional design to toeless and heel-less; those coloured chunks dotted around the garden are not early blooming spring flowers, but Rottweiler-processed rubber. As my stress levels rise, I realise I cannot alleviate them by going for a dog walk because I no longer have the footwear.

Perhaps this is just as well, given the Rottie’s obsession with chasing joggers, bicycles, horses, and men. This tends to result in a sharp rise in cortisol production of the chasee, although she thinks it’s great fun.

An earlier plan of letting her have a litter of puppies is shelved when I realise that not even beta-blockers would successfully lower my blood pressure should such a plan result in ten or more Rotties clattering around chasing things. Although to be fair, my immune system is fantastic, up to our tonsils as we are in dog hair, mud, slobber and worming pills. Friends with clean houses are always falling ill, but not us. Not physically anyway.

However, to safeguard my mental health I arrange a hysterectomy for the dog in the hope it might calm her down (I tried it myself a few years ago and it worked a treat). But like me, she’s a bit porky. The vet says she must lose a few kilos before her op, and suggests giving her treats of apple and raw carrot.

This is a dog for whom the word ‘snack’ means a sack of raw chicken legs. I feel my blood pressure going up again. Her weight gain has been in direct proportion to the other dog’s weight loss, I explain, because the Rottie nicks the other one’s dinner. And the cat’s. In fact, any dinner that isn’t nailed down. As a compulsive over-eater myself, I empathise, but resolve to force-feed her apples and carrots because the price of a dog hysterectomy is calculated by how much the dog weighs. (Good job that doesn’t apply to humans, or I would have been stuffed).

“This is for your health,” I tell her, offering her a carrot. She spits it out in horror, and goes back to my wellies.