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Pomona College Magazine is published three times a year by Pomona College
550 N. College Ave, Claremont, CA 91711
Online Editor: Mark Kendall
For editorial matters:
Editor: Mark Wood
Phone: (909) 621-8158
Fax: (909) 621-8203
PCM Editorial Guidelines
Contact Alumni Records for changes of address, class notes, or notice
of births or deaths.
Phone: (909) 621-8635
Fax: (909) 621-8535
Email: alumni@pomona.edu
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Food of the Dogs
My dog dines on duck and potatoes, twice a day, seven days a week. Not
much in the way of variety, but he doesn’t seem to mind. As I tell my
wife (using one of those special voices we all use when speaking on
behalf of our pets), he’s just a duck-and-potatoes kind of a guy.
Scotty is a cross between a pure-blood sheltie and a Southern
gentleman—a trusting soul who is courteous even to cats. Unfortunately,
he’s also getting old even faster than I am. His pupils are cloudy when
he stares up into the light, and that once regal coat of his has gotten
sort of scruffy. His digestion isn’t what it once was, either—hence the
slightly exotic diet.
But the truth is, Scotty was never an Alpo dog. One reason, I suppose,
is the fact that my wife and I are compulsive label readers, and the
lists of ingredients on most dog food labels don’t really
sound—well—edible. In some cases, my mind refuses even to go there. For
instance, I know what beef tallow is, and fish meal, but what is
hydrolyzed chicken protein? Likewise, I have a reasonably good notion of
poultry byproducts, but what about meal of poultry byproducts? Or digest
of poultry byproducts and beef?
Sometimes I think that the usual brands of commercial dog food must be
the down-and-dirty quintessence of processed food—processed food as it
would be if there were no labels and no FDA. Basically, it’s the
leavings and nail-parings of our food industry, fortified with vitamins
and rendered down into something resembling paté or croutons. A sort of
doggy Soylent Green.
Like most people who identify with their pets, I can’t help imagining
what it would be like to eat the stuff myself, which is probably why I
fork over a bit more for something slightly less objectionable. But also
like most people, I shudder at the thought of giving it the old taste
test.
I’m reminded of the stories I’ve heard over the years of old people in
poverty forced to live on dogfood. Why do those stories—maybe
apocryphal, but deeply affecting in any case—fill us with such shame and
disgust? It’s not a question of nutrition, is it? Poultry byproducts may
not be appetizing, but they won’t kill you, and protein is protein. No,
mostly it’s symbolism. This is the demeaning, dehumanizing facet of
poverty. After all, you are what you eat, so what does a diet of
Ken-L-Ration reduce you to?
I’m also reminded of a recent L.A. news item in which a group of
firefighters conspired to feed dogfood-laced spaghetti to a
colleague—reportedly as a prank, in response to his tendency to refer to
himself as “the Big Dog”— leading to a lawsuit for racial harassment and
an abortive settlement. Can a bite of Alpo really be worth $2.7 million?
As a counterpoint to that news item, I recall the simple,
straightforward attitude of an old hunter I once knew who asserted that
he never fed his hunting dogs anything he hadn’t tasted and approved
first. He found nothing demeaning about sampling something designed for
dogs, maybe because he had such a healthy respect for them and no
illusions about what it means to be human rather than canine.
—Mark Wood |
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