Mimi was opening a can of dog food, you know, the kind that you pull the ring on the top. As the lid snapped off the can a chunk went flying into the air and landed right in her mouth. She shouted, "Ew! A chunk got in my mouth!" Then she smacked her lips a couple of times and said, "Mmm. Not bad."
My experience with dog food was when I was just her age - fourth grade. We lived in North Carolina and we had a golden mutt that we named Thai. As in Thailand - that's where my dad was at the time on TDY for the Air Force. I borrowed a book about dog species from the school library and my five year old brother and I looked through the book, studying all the species and trying to find out just what kind of dog Thai was.
Page by page, getting distracted by all the species, the big ones, the tiny ones, the fluffy ones and then we found it. We were convinced that Thai was a genuine Dingo from Australia. We told all of our friends that Thai was a Dingo. This was about 1975 when most Americans didn't even know what language they spoke in Australia, and a few years before the movie Grease and way before Crocodile Dundee.
I remember pouring Thai some dried dog nuggets and I wondered what they tasted like, so I threw a nugget in my mouth and started crunching away. I then spat it out almost as quickly as it went in. Why did Thai get so excited to eat petrified poop? I don't think I had ever tasted poop before to my knowledge, but it tasted exactly like the smell of poop. I lost a little respect in my dog that day, but it faded quickly. I never touched his food again. Or any other dog's food, for that matter. When it comes to good food, how can you trust a species that identifies others by the smell of their butt holes?