If you labor under the impression that poodles are a breed belonging to the canine class – you’d be wrong.
Poodles are actually four-legged people dressed up in curly jackets. Poodles spend more time at the beauty salon than most women I know. Their haircuts are more elaborate. Especially the show-cuts – hours and hours to create. Besides, their fur isn’t even fur – it’s hair. If you doubt me, consider that people very allergic to dog dander are not allergic to poodle fur. Er, hair. That’s because poodles have hair – just like people. And sometimes nail polish, too. Rhinestone collars and pearls. They especially like pearls. Tiaras or Derbies for evening wear. Poodles are glam or dapper. They are the royalty of the dog world.
Dog experts say the average dog is about as intelligent as a two-year old human child. Some dogs have a vocabulary of up to 250 words. Not poodles. They know way more words than the average dog – when they deign to hear you. Yet they don’t much bother with spoken English at all. They think you should understand them – not vice versa. And they will make sure you do.
We will examine this further
Now, I’ve dog-sat poodles of every size, shape and hue. From the teeny tiny toy variety up to and including the royal standard, about the size of a young giraffe. All of them have been hyper-intelligent. Sometimes I feel inadequate in comparison. But not for long. For the poodle will soon bend me to his or her will. They are patient. They will wait, tapping their manicured toenails on the parquet until I “get it.” And once I do, they will let out a long-suffering sigh, shrug their shoulders and give me an “about time” look.
As befits royalty, poodles tend to be fussy about their cuisine. They are the only breed I know who are free-feeders. There may be exceptions, but so far I’ve not met them.
No, the order of the day is put down their food and nine out of ten poodles will graze throughout the day. No gulping. No wolfing down the chow. That would be crass. Crass is not the Poodle Way. Savoring their food and slow-eating are not customary behaviors for most other-than-poodle dogs. These not-poodle dogs will start gobbling even before the dog bowl touches the floor. And mind your fingers while you’re at it, because in their eagerness to chow down, the not-poodle canine may very well try to ingest your digits like little Vienna sausages. It’s (nearly) happened to me.
I remember one worried client who called me from the airport to advise me that I must tell his large black Labrador retriever “gentle!” in a firm voice while holding out a treat or I might lose my entire hand down his gaping maw. Even when giving the “gentle” caveat, I soon learned to hold my fingers curled under as this big boy Lab was a most avid fan of treats – and his maw was wide and deep and filled with sparkling teeth the size of a shark’s.
Otherwise, this Lab was a big Teddy Bear, but he sure did love his treats. Most Labs are chow hounds. Gotta watch their intake or they can get as big as a roly-poly grizzly. You Lab owners know what I mean, right?
But poodles? Another story
Let me tell you the story of Pierre, the miniature poodle (his name has been changed to preserve his identity, as poodles are very private dogs – they don’t want personal info shared with the hoi polloi).
Pierre came to stay with us at Aunt Patty’s while his owners traveled. He was a first-time guest, though he’d stopped by to get acquainted and to anoint our yard so his scent was here and he’d feel at home with us. Now our home was his territory, Mi Kennel, Sui Kennel so to speak. (I don’t know how to say that in French or I would.)
Poodles don’t travel lightly. They arrive with accouterments, mon ami. This particular Poodle came with his well-tailored beige trench coat that set off his charcoal coiffed coat to full advantage. His pretty bowls came with him. Then there was his specially packaged, home-cooked food. Medium-rare roast beef, cut into bite-sized pieces. White meat chicken, nicely shredded. A fine selection of cooked vegetables. Some liver sausage. Was there cheese? I seem to remember Gruyere. There was kibble, too, and it didn’t come from the grocery shelf. It was organic, made in limited batches, and pricey.
I had beautifully written instructions from his humans on how and when to feed him and just what comprised his custom blend. This was good. I like detailed instructions. I want our dog guests to be coddled and pampered. It’s why a dog’s humans select Aunt Patty over a plebeian kennel. We’re the boutique, personal-attention hotel as opposed to the budget motel. No clamor of all-night barking for their dog. Their dog deserved the peacefulness, high-thread-count linens and plush sofas of our serene home where birdsong and soft voices ruled. I don’t blame them. When I go away, I’ll always choose a serene B & B or rented cottage over the slam of car doors at 5 AM, ne’er-do-wells lurking in the parking lot, or the nearby highway noise of downshifting big rigs so often found at motels.
But I digress. I followed the instructions with care. A little of the roast beef. Gosh, it looked delicious – a tender pink in the center – just the way I like it. Should I try just a bit, just to make sure? No, mustn’t covet Pierre’s food! Add in a dollop of the shredded chicken. A tablespoon of the liver sausage. Just the right amount of the kibble. Mix the blend. Stirred not shaken. A wee sprinkle of the Gruyere cheese…Voila! Perfect. I put the entree on the floor, quite pleased with myself. Pierre should be delighted. Just like home. A meal fit for a poodle!
Not so, dear Reader, not so.
Pierre ambled over, no sign of eagerness in his gait. He zeroed in on the food. Lowered his muzzle. Gave a sniff. A dismissive sniff. A sniff that was a sneer. He tossed his head, pivoted on his dainty paws and stalked away, sighing.
I’d failed
Where had I gone wrong? I reviewed the instructions step-by-step. Everything was in order. But Pierre wasn’t having it. In fact, he wasn’t having it for the next six meals in a row. He’d let them sit for an hour without a bite, without a nibble. I’d refrigerate the spurned food and try again later. No go.
Now, this was new to me. I’d hosted dogs before who might not want a meal or two at first – sometimes I’d cook up a little omelet for them to tempt their taste buds – but to refuse to eat, meal after meal? And Pierre had no interest in my omelets. I tried.
My nurturing mother’s heart was in agony. My home-made food was spurned. His humans’ delicacies were spurned. To be sure, Pierre accepted every offered treat. Drank water. And seemed wholly content, if somewhat sulky. Perhaps my cotton bed linens had a lower thread count than his humans’? I could understand that. There are standards to uphold.
But to reject his custom entree again and again? Oh, he’d amble over and lower his face to the bowl, give the same dismissive sniff and stalk away. Rejected my attempts to hand feed him. It was maddening. What to do? Call his humans, 3,000 miles away? Take him to his vet? Would they force feed him? What was I to do? Well, he was eating treats. He was drinking water. He was a rather portly Poodle. He wasn’t about to fade away to a svelte Whippet-size. Maybe Pierre viewed Aunt Patty Pet-care as Aunt Patty’s Doggy Spa & Weight Loss Center?
Ah, I must get into the mind of this Poodle and figure out the problem. So I sat down with Pierre and tried a mind-meld. What was he thinking? Pierre was silent on the subject. But I knew from his sighs and behavior that he was angry. Angry that his beloved humans had gone away and left him. Kindly Aunt Patty wasn’t a substitute. And that custom blend? Well, it came from his humans’ kitchen. The food bore the scent of his absent humans, reminded him of them, those who had abandoned him. No, he could not – would not – touch it. It came from his beloved people – his absent humans.
What was I to do? Living on treats wasn’t healthy. I suspected the root of the mystery – but what was the solution? Puzzling, this Case of The Poodle Who Wouldn’t Eat.
I went shopping
While at the local discount store, I visited the shelves in the pet food aisle. There, I spied small rectangular containers of dog food. The photos on the peel-back lids made the food look delicious. Tempting combos were in evidence. Some included bacon. Bacon! I loved bacon. I started to drool. But would Pierre drool, too? More crucial, would he eat?
The food wasn’t pricey, so I purchased a half-dozen in varied flavors. Once home, I peeled back the top of the bacon-flavored one, and dished it out to Pierre. Well, Readers, let me tell you, that stuff was doggy crack. Pierre came running. Pierre practically inhaled that food. And looked up at me for more.
He would even eat it mixed with his formerly rejected organic kibble. Problem solved. What was the deal? Putting on my Poodle-brain, I figured this new food was owner-scent free. Plus, by now he was really hungry. And this food was novel and therefore a delicacy. After all, just how much medium-rare roast beef, liver sausage and white meat shredded chicken can one Poodle eat? Variety, the spice of life, eh Pierre?
I’m a happy Aunt Patty
Bon Appétit, my petite four-legged friend. Bon appétit. Now you’ve a full tummy. What say we put on our trench coats and go for a stroll through this misty evening? Grass, flowers and ornamental shrubs await. They require your attention, little one. I will bear the bags. Come, my Prince.
Thanks for reading!