Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Strange things I did as a child, with [or because of] my dogs.

This post is inspired by June's star gazing
and dedicated to my sisters and brother
who'd better bloody well read it.


A few days ago, after reading June's post, I started reminiscing about some strange ideas I'd had as a child. 

Actually, I had many strange ideas as a child. 

This abundance of oddity might have been because I spent so much time alone [despite having 2 sisters, 1 brother, good friends in the neighbourhood and a boy across the road whom I was deeply in love with]. 

However, I think it was more likely my father's fault. It was he who fed me a potent brew of faeries, dragons, cyborgs, super heroes, mythology, mighty mice and miscellaneous talking animals from the time I was 5 [which was when I started reading]. Who knows what damage all those alternate realities did to my young mind? 

Little wonder I now have a talking dog myself.
"Listen, Typist. I can't really talk. I am just a voice in your head. You DO realise that, don't you?"

By the way, my mother didn't read much, so I can't blame her. 

But back to June's post. 

One thing led to another and soon, I was remembering the stuff I did to/with/because of my dogs that, in retrospect, might have given my family and neighbours cause for concern. 

Just for a giggle, I thought I'd share a few of them with you today. You may or may not find them so odd, depending on how odd you are yourself. But here goes.

Strange things I did as a child, with [or because of] my dogs.

*  I used to run on all fours with my dogs. I liked to whine, bark and growl too. I'm quite sure I thought I was a dog. To prove that I was a kindred soul, I sometimes slept in their large kennel. [Though never overnight. That would have been too much.] 

I can still run well on all fours today, which is very helpful as a stretch and warmup in my exercise class. My dog and cat sounds are pretty realistic too, and I love making them as I walk by the street cats. The looks they give me are priceless.

* Long before wheat grass shots became a juice bar staple, I loved eating grass. My favourites were long dangly blades which were excellent to chew, and young pale green juicy stalks which were great for sucking on. I don't think I would have discovered their delicate flavour without the guidance of my grass-eating chums. 

I wonder how much pee and other unmentionables I ingested along with the chlorophyll. But obviously, it did no lasting damage. 


*  My father used to regularly buy big bones from the market for the dogs. They were pre-cooked in some way, probably smoked or barbecued. The meat would mostly be gone [for human consumption] but some would still be on the bone. That meat was dee.vine! How do I know this? 

I always got first go before handing them over to the dogs. That's right. Sadly for Cookie, Shandy and Mickey, they never realised there was supposed to be meat on their bones. 

Do I feel any remorse for having shortchanged my dogs that way? Are you kidding? My only regret is not being able to get my paws on one right now.

*  My other favourite food as a child, after an exhausting day of wrestling the dogs, climbing trees, wading in filthy ponds and riding around on my bicycle [which was really a pretend car - strange because I still can't drive to this day] were pies. 

I made these myself. Here is the recipe:

*Smashed butter
*Crumbled dog biscuits
*A little sprinkling of mud [every pie has to have some chocolate]
*Shredded grass

Mix all the above. Press into old plastic containers. Bake in pretend oven. Serve them pretend hot, 1 for me, 1 for the dogs.

I think it's safe to say, I had a pretty awesome childhood.


Did you do any weird stuff as a child? Do tell if you did! I'd hate to think I'm all alone in this. NOTE: You don't have to have had a dog to play. I hear you can do strange things with hamsters too.

P>S> Thank you for all your kind thoughts  and birthday wishes! They were much appreciated. I hope you find this post a little more cheery :) x

Monday, March 26, 2012

Monkey mind.

I've been feeling a sense of dread lately.

It's hard to describe. Mostly, it expresses itself in tears.

Being Cancerian, I've lived a moody life. Being menopausal, my mind has gotten even more capricious and swings from happy to sad and gungho to nervous in 2 blinks of a stitched-up eyelid. I have some idea of why I've been feeling particularly down lately but am not ready to share it.

One day last week, while walking through Hyde Park on the way to exercise class, I started fantasizing about moving to Somewhere Else. It wasn't a new thought but, at that moment, it was unexpected. The Other Half and I have been talking about it on and off for years, more and more lately, as many people getting old do.

In this particular fantasy, The Other Half and Georgia and I were on the road.

I imagined us living in Bali, New Zealand, India, Morocco and Brazil, hopping from Place to Place, living as 3 fortunate beings with no ties, obligations or dependants might do.

Then, one day, in SomePlace, it was time to get down on the floor, give Georgia a big cuddle and kiss, say goodbye and send her off on Her Last And Most Excellent Adventure, before continuing on our own.  

It was clear as anything in my mind's eye.

I don't know how I managed to imagine all that in my short 10 minute walk along Elizabeth Street, through Hyde Park, and past the Anzac mausoleum. I suppose it was like those flashes of your life that you're supposed to get when you die.

By the time I got to exercise class, I was sucking in snot, surreptitiously dabbing wet eyes with my knuckles and pretending I had a cold.


Today is Georgia's birthday, that we celebrate on the day we got her.

She's been with us 3 years now and is almost 4. Soon, when people ask if she's an old dog (she gets that a lot because of her white muzzle), I won't be able to feign indignation. It was around this age that Rufus hurt his leg and started to go downhill.

As a biggish dog, I don't expect Georgia will live to be 15 unless we're terribly lucky. As part Dane, whose average lifespan, I'm told, is 7, I'm hoping she'll make it to 10 in good health.

I don't mean to be sad today and am writing this just to get it off my chest.

The Other Half has bought Georgia a lovely big lamb bone. She won't be getting a birthday cake because I can't (be bothered to) bake but I don't think she'll miss it. I'll give her some peanut butter and bloodwood honey on a bikkie and a few pieces of white nectarine instead. She'll get a butt squeeze, 2 good walks [weather permitting] and she'll be a very happy dog.

Today, I'm going to try not to do any more useless panicking and work instead, on stilling my monkey mind.

 HaPpy *3 yEars *
and* 8 month 
You're a good girl
and we love you lots x

Saturday, March 24, 2012

To Russia with love.

2 weeks ago, for no good reason, I took the preposterous step of not blogging for 10 days. Even for a blogger who aims for 3 posts a week, not blogging at all was a bit of a heart attack occasion.

I stopped reading other blogs. [Sorry.] I stopped checking for comments every other hour, on the bus, in bed and on the potty.  I stopped signing in to Blogger the 1st thing after waking up. After 2 days of withdrawal, my brain happily went blank.

What did I do to fill those 240 hours? Here is a shortlist.

I vacuumed, mopped, dusted, wiped every surface including walls slimed by dog drool, then vacuumed again until the poor machine died. Considering it's a good brand and just 2 years old, I'm a little miffed about that. It's been sent away to get fixed. I don't know when it'll be back but I hope it's soon because I'm over sweeping a whole house with a dustpan. Thank goodness there are no tradesmen scheduled to come over.

I tackled the garden, weeding and pruning just about 2/3s of it. The constant rain has made everything overly lush.

We severely pruned back our flowering plum tree that's been sick, straggly and falling down on 1 side. Maybe we should just have taken the whole thing down, but it's our lucky tree.
"You guys DO realise I'm here, right?"

On a stormy night almost 10 years ago, A Really Big Dead Gum Tree at the corner of our tiny backyard fell on the little plum tree and broke it in 1/2. Without that sacrifice, the fence we share with our side neighbour, and the back neighbour's then brand new wall, would have crumbled. How could we put a fearless little tree like that down?
So we've tied it back and now hope for the best. Maybe it'll get some good sleep over Winter and bounce back in Spring.

While out walking Georgia, The Other Half also spotted some plants that had been left by the roadside, including this monster staghorn. 
He's promised to hang it up on the back wall this weekend. Seeing as how it took 2 grown men [and 1 grown woman] to haul it back on a blanket, I see a sore back and neck coming.
I picked up some cheap autumn colour for pots that have been sitting idle on the balcony. Given my green thumbs, they should thrive.
till the end of the month.
at the very least.

With my new found freedom from blogging, I caught up on my pile of outdated Time magazines. Then I watched a lot of terrible, addictive TV including [in no particular order of preference] American Idol, Project Runway, Wife Swap, Amazing Race and [since I read about it on another dogblog], Dancemoms too.

Ooops. I do so hope you won't think less of me for admitting that, but I never said I was clever.

I also managed to train capoeira 5 times a week until my other [good] knee collapsed. Enough said.

In those 10 days, Georgia started her new diet based on your welcome and helpful thoughts, experiences and advice [thank you!] and all the reading I'd done.

Raw meals are now separated from cooked. 
"That looks mighty skimpy. You're not going all frugal on me, are you?"

Just 1 big bone, every other day, instead of 2 little ones every day. We've tossed the unsuitable bones out and are now experimenting with new ones like chicken carcasses and turkey. Anyone out there has any advice on roo bones?
"Me like!"

So far, so good.

Having read on some dogblog or other about the possible dangers of eating out of plastic [sigh], we've even swopped her 12 year old plastic bowl [handed down from Jordan] for a ceramic one [handed down from Tiger Lily who used to live a few doors away and who, as I recall, was found dead in her backyard by her owners, having choked on a bone].

Still on the food front, we discovered a fruit we'd never ever seen or heard of before!
It's called achachairú or achacha [Garcinia Humilis]. Since the silly people at Paddy's wouldn't let me try one, I thought I'd share the experience with you here.

CLICK HERE if you want to read about this Amazonian fruit and learn how to open it. The white flesh is soft and has a texture and taste similar to mangosteen, a little sweet, a little tart. [I'm hoping you know what a mangosteen is, otherwise this information will be as useful as a freezer in Nome.]
The only downside, it has large seeds. So with a hard skin outside and a big seed inside, this is NOT what you would call a value-for-money fruit. I also just read in Wikipedia that the skin is traditionally used in Bolivia as a hunger suppressant. I wish I'd known that before I threw the lot away! Next time. Maybe if I publish this post quickly enough, The Other Half will read it and pick some up for me from the weekend market.


A few days ago, struggling to get back into blogging, I attempted to write a post. A few drafts later, I deleted the lot. Boring. Boring. Sad. Oh oh. Writers block. Truth be told, if it wasn't for some poor man found dead in our local park on Thursday, I doubt I'd be here today. [Last I heard, the police are still not sure if it was suicide or foul play.]

But here I am, back in the proverbial saddle. So, of course, I thought I'd have a look at the dreaded stats counter. To my surprise, the [very modest] numbers were still holding! despite my absence! How was this possible?

Well, here's my best guess.

Apparently! this blog is being read in Russia! In fact, twice as many Russians [apparently] read this blog than Australians. For shame! [Note to Self: Must write more stories about possums, Bondi and damper.]

I have no idea who in Russia might [apparently] be reading a silly dogblog. I can only hope it's not anything nefarious. I decided to click on an unfamiliar link this morning and, rather like falling into Alice's rabbit hole, found myself at...


...oh my! a digital spyware site? I'm not sure it's Russian since it was in English but still.

My mind is boggling. I am equal parts confused, nervous and inquisitive.

Just to be on the safe side, I'd best state here that, despite being anonymous, I am truly who I say I am -

A plumpish, not particularly sociable, cream cake-loving, menopausal housewife who has a bad knee [now 2 bad knees], lives in a small crowded house with an overly-bathed, opinionated dog and a grumpy equally menopausal man [though he doesn't want to admit it] who snores.

I am not a sleeper. You understand?

Meanwhile, let me take this opportunity to say to anyone in Russia who might be reading this - 

Hi! Привет! I hope you're enjoying the stories. If you like, you can say hi! Привет! back! [In English, if you don't mind, because I don't really understand Cyrillic.]

Whatever you do, please please don't spam me, okay? I beg of you. Do it to one of the other big and important blogs on my side bar instead.

Thank you! Спасибо! Have a nice day! Хорошего Дня!

[I do so hope those phrases are right. If not, please write a stern note to Linguanaut.]


P.S. I leave you with this spam that I just received -

"Very soon this web site will be famous among all blogging and site-building viewers, due to it's fastidious posts."

Why, thank you Anonymous. You must really be reading my posts.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Shots in the dark, a body in the park and the usual suspects.

My Cushion has been sick and The Typist has been taking me for my morning walks. I prefer walking with My Cushion but beggars can't be choosers.

This morning, we started off in the dark because The People In Charge Of These Things haven't turned the clock back yet.

I don't know whether they realise how creepy it is for us dogs to walk in the dark.

"Oh my god, Typist! Is that one of The Dog-Hunting C.a.t.s Of Balmain?"
"Could we please walk a little faster, please?"
Luckily, we managed to get safely to Mort Bay Park.
 I was very relieved.
My Typist took more shots in the dark. I hope you can see them okay. Even if they aren't very clear, [she says] they are quite a.t.m.o.s.p.h.e.r.i.c.
Baxter and Pearl were already at the little beach. They are such earlybirds.
You can see Pearl's butt here.

Baxter checked the water out for us.
Baxter has an extra-long leash. Can you see it?

There was too much rubbish in the water for a swim [though Pearl's human was very good and tried to clean it up for us].
Since no one wanted to get into the scummy water, we walked on some more.
 I jumped up this wall!
I gave My Typist such a fright, her hand shook while she was taking this picture.

Finally we got to The Bouncy Bridge!
This is one of my favourite places in Mort Bay Park. When the ferry goes by, the whole thing creaks and bounces! Some dogs are scared of it but I'm not.
I don't know why so many pictures in this post are blurry. My Typist insists this one's bad because the ferry was going by, and not because of her lack of skills.

I'd better not say anything since she'll be taking care of me while My Cushion is sick.  

Another reason I like The Bouncy Bridge is because fishermen leave yummy dried squid there.
Humans can be so generous.

Here's a video of me on The Bouncy Bridge. It's a bit long  [just over 3 minutes] because My Typist still hasn't figured out how to edit a movie on her new computer. [This is sure to make My Cushion cross when he reads this.]

Please watch it if you want to see me looking thoughtful or if you'd like to hear My Typist squeal.

After that, we went across the road to Ballast Point Park. If you've seen the video, you'll know where that is in relation to The Bouncy Bridge.

It was nice and quiet there.
A PoliceHuman stopped us!

"You can't go any further. You'll have to turn around." she said. "There's an investigation going on up top."
An investigation?

Being a sticky beak, My Typist had to ask what it was about. The PoliceHuman told her someone had found a body in the park.

I'm sorry I don't know what that means, but I think it may be A Very Bad Thing and something worse than a possum.

So we turned around and started walking back.

I thought my walk was over when! out of the corner of my eye! I spotted breakfast approaching!
There was not a moment to waste! I quickly went into my hunting mode. I knew I had to remain inconspicious so as not to scare the prey away. Luckily, there was a wall and some long grass handy.
Everything was going so well when suddenly!
3 littledogs came running up. They scared the prey away.
Then they jumped on me!
What is the world coming to? Don't littledogs understand anything at all about heirarchy and the food chain? I was very cross.

Larry may have escaped my jaws of death today but he'd better watch out.
Call me paranoid, but I think littledogs gang up on bigdogs like me all the time and, may I say, that is not nice.

The usual suspects - Darcy and Aggie.
"I got my eye on you, littledogs."
And Mozart.

Our activities must have aroused the suspicions of The PoliceHuman. She followed us out of the park.  
And put another barrier up, right near the entrance.

No one wanted to leave the scene of the crime.
So we had a big yak on the road right outside the park, and everyone got to eat treats.
When we got home, My Typist couldn't wait to tell My Cushion what a great and interesting walk I'd had! I think she gloated a little.

My Cushion was very jealous.


Sunday, March 11, 2012

A 10am update that supercedes the now deleted 3am update.

Let it be known, your honour, that somewhere in Sydney, Australia, a suburban housewife is very sleepy, crabby at Blogger and about to do dangerous bodily harm by plucking out her own hair.

I made a huge mistake in yesterday's important post with this caption -

2 daily meals of raw and cooked bones, offal and meat, kibble [currently Canidae], rice and greens.

Did you spot it?

I must have proof read it at least, oh, 5 times before publishing and yet I missed it.

Lucky for me, Jean [despite often being sleepless, having to wipe 12 muddy critter paws in the middle of the night] was sharp.

Last night at 3am, I hastily tumbled downstairs after seeing her comment picking out the mistake, to correct the post.

Why the haste?

It wasn;t just a typo eror, or even an silly grammatical one.

No, it was a mistake that should not have been made, in all places, on a post about what bones to give your dog. I HAD to immediately change it.

And all would have been well and I would be having a lovely crispy bacon and egg sangy for Sunday brekkie now instead of typing this - if it wasn't for the fact that Blogger wouldn't let me make the correction.

Every time I tried to re-publish the corrected post, the paragraphs would come out scrambled like eggs. Tossed about like a salad. Incomprehensible, in short.

I don't know what's going on with Blogger these days but I might just save that particular rant for another rainy day.

So I did the only thing I could. I wrote a new post correcting the mistake and published it at 3.30 am.

This morning, after I read my 3.30am post, I realised I should have made more of a hoo-ha over the mistake. Perhaps something like this -

2 daily meals of raw and cooked bones, offal and meat, kibble [currently Canidae], rice and greens.

Now you see what I mean!

That caption should have read -

2 daily meals of  raw bones, raw and cooked offal and meat, kibble [currently Canidae], rice and greens.

Because, of course, cooked bones are bad for dogs! [So please people, stop tossing them over your fence onto the road! and leaving them behind in the park after your picnic! No one will think you're being kind and generous to share your leftover cooked bones this way.]

Thank god, I say, THANK GOD! for Ms Jean, her sharp eye and her knowledge of such things!

I'm still distressed that Blogger won't let me change it on the original post. I hope that I'll be able to one day, as I'd hate someone trying to find the right bone for his/her dog to ever have to read that.

P>S> When I was at Something Wagging last night, I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to join the Saturday BlogHop in the hope of getting more input on the last post.

It was my 1st time ever and, I'm afraid, I might have messed up. So here I am, about to make yet another correction.
Pet Blogger Hop
Thank you Life With Dogs, Two Little Cavaliers and Confessions of the Plume for hosting.

NOTE No need to make any comments on this post, unless you want to throw a dummy spit at Blogger.

Otherwise, please go back to the last post HERE. Any thoughts on the subject will be welcome :)

Thank you and have a great weekend!

With love and respect always, The Typist x

Deleting the 3.30am post NOW!

"Please Mr Butcher, can I have a bone for my dog?"

A serious post about how [confusing it is] to choose the right bone for a dog - written by a concerned and confused housewife dogowner after 1 night of googling.


Most people would say Georgia eats well. We've come a long way from feeding our dogs kibble from Woollie's and canned dog food.

Sadly, I can't say for sure if her meals are perfectly balanced since I'm not a dogfood expert.
The entire bottom half of our freezer is all Georgia's food. How did our fridge life get so taken over by 1 dog?

Nor do I have the mathematical genius required to calculate the kind of 2 decimal point percentages I see on dogfood bags and sites.

To tell you the truth, I get a headache when presented with such numbers and instantly think of all the dogs in the world who don't eat like that and still live good happy lives. [Though perhaps not Methuselan ones.]

Here at our little house, we're hedging our bets by feeding Georgia with a mixture of all good things. As I once commented on Ms Tonk's post about what to feed dogs, we follow the same guideline with Georgia's diet as we do with our own - provide lots of variety and eat in moderation.

2 daily meals of raw and cooked bones*, offal and meat, kibble [currently Canidae], rice and greens.

Sometimes, I wonder why I fret. Last week, Georgia found some fresh entrails from roadkill. Before The Other Half could stop her, she'd sucked the lot down. We thought she'd get the runs. But no. Remarkably [or perhaps not], she didn't get the slightest bit sick from it, and the only ones who gagged were us humans.

My latest bugbear and the one I'll be discussing today is bones.

There was a time when we fed our dogs bones as treats. Jordan and Rufus got a big marrow bone or lamb shank once a fortnight, if they were lucky and if we remembered.

Georgia, our 46kg princess, gets 2 little raw bones every single day with her meals. And a big one once a fortnight or so.

Here's the problem.

It seems not all dogs are suited to bones and not all bones are suitable for all dogs.

What bone you pick for a dog might depend on such fiddly things as the size of the dog, the said dog's preferred chewing method, and the purpose of giving the said bone to the said dog in the 1st place.

I know, I know. That already sounds too complicated. But it is, in fact, common sense. Take a deep breath, re-read the sentence if you have to, and you'll see what I mean.

Georgia does not chew her bones. Big or small, she gives them a cursory chomp or 2, then swallows them in chunks. She gobbles them down as if there were ravenous hyenas circling, waiting to pounce and pluck the bone right out of her jaws [not to be confused with Typists who steal her bones while she's sleeping]. Sometimes, she gags and regurgitates the chunks.   

This, of course, bothers us. Over the last year, we've experimented with all types of bones for her. From chicken necks and wings to brisket and lamb necks. We give her tibias long marrow bones for cleaning her teeth. We give her lamb shanks for a more meaty bite.

"This one's pretty good. What is it?"

We've also experimented with sizes of bones, and how they should be cut.

For example -

Given that she often gags trying to swallow her 1/2 a lamb neck, we now get the butcher to 1/4 them, thus hopefully halving her chances of choking on one. [See? I do do some dubious math.]

We've also gone from giving her a whole marrow bone to just 1/2 at a time so there's less gunk stuffing up her intestines and other more unmentionable body parts.

And no more cutting them lengthwise either, as butchers like to do! Bad BAD. [Apparently.]

In short, our choice of bones has evolved in the last year to cater to our dog's needs and eating habits. I was feeling quite proud and happy with our decisions.

Until last night, when I read this -

"...stay away from cut bones; this includes things like cut up neck bones (where they are cut into individual vertebrae), cut ox-tail bones, and cut knuckle bones. The smaller size encourages inappropriate gulping, not to mention the rather sharp edges left over from the saw blade!"

On that same site [which is dedicated to dispelling myths surrounding raw feeding], I found even more things we should do to make bone-eating safer for our little pea!

Who would have thought picking a bone for a dog would be so closely related to rocket science?

Then. While my mind was still grappling with what further changes we might have to make...

More confusing news.

Some experts believe bones are not good for dogs at all!

How could this be? Well, if you'd like to know what complications could arise from feeding bones, read this. Personally, I wouldn't be keen for Georgia to choke on a bone. I just wouldn't have the strength required to attempt a Heimlich Manoeuvre on her 46kg mass.

And if the above advice is not expert enough for you, perhaps you'll believe this scary one from the U.S. FDA.


I don't know what I hope to get out of this post. A little more clarity would be good. What scares me is that I've come up with so much conflicting information in just 1 night [or to be precise, 2 hours] of googling. What else is out there that I do not know and should know?

How can an average dogowner like myself hope to make a good decision when even the experts are conflicted?

Can you, by any chance, help? Any personal experiences, thoughts and opinions will be gratefully added to this database!

I will end this post with  A Note To The Other Half who buys the bones but will probably not read any of the helpful links I've provided here.


Dear Other Half,

Based on my findings,  this will be our new guideline for feeding bones to Georgia -

+ We will now use only raw chicken wings and beef brisket in her daily meals. The chicken wings are small enough for her BigDog throat and she does at least crunch them once or twice before swallowing. The brisket bones are soft and [so far] she seems to chew them more.
A bag of brisket sure doesn't go far. After trimming all the fat off, all that was left was the plate on the left.

No more raw lamb necks until she stops gobbling them down, not even if they're 1/4ed.

+ We may be overdoing the bones by feeding them to her twice a day, 7 days a week. 3 or 4 times a week, or just 1 bone a day should be fine.

You'll just have to learn how to ignore Georgia when she comes to hassle remind you about her bone.

+ No more cuttings of the spine, even if the butcher swears they're great for dogs.
No more lengthwise cutting of tibias/femurs/longbones/marrow bones even if the butcher says the dog won't be able to get to the marrow if he cuts it crosswise, and even if he thinks we're being stupid.

+ "Recreational, teeth-cleaning bones" and lamb shanks will only be given once a fortnight. We won't let Georgia get to the point where she's cracked them open and swallowed the chunks. We'll remove the bones after a good gnaw and while they're still intact. You will not say that that is a waste of money.

+ Finally, just in case all these precautions do not work, we you will learn the Heimlich Manoeuvre [video below].

Thank you. Please be aware that this guideline is subject to change at any time.


I don't know about the rest of you, but sometimes, I wish we could go back to the good old days when dogs called Fido ate table scraps, and no one felt guilty about it.

"Listen guys. Please don't fuss."

"I'd be happy to have whatever you're having."


Other related reading.
+  I like the general feeding guidelines here on the RSPCA Australia site. They're simple to understand and achievable. Plus, there are many other interesting onward reading links.

Here's an excerpt from the section on bones:

+ Too many raw bones may lead to constipation. Generally 1-2 raw bones may be offered per week with a few days in between each serving

+ Avoid large marrow bones (these have very thick outer rims), T-bones, 'chop' bones e.g. lamb cutlets, large knuckle bones and bones sawn lengthwise (as done by some butchers) as dogs may crack their teeth on these

+  Want to know how to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre on a dog?

OR if you don't like to read, here's a video. [I don't see her lifting a 46kg dog in it though.]

+ After all that to-ing and fro-ing, is raw food [including bones] even good for a dog?

I accidentally found this article on a site called Science Based Medicine. It's written by a vet and titled Raw Meat and Bone Diets for dogs: It's enough to make you BARK ooops! BARF.

I've read it through once. My head is aching and my eyes feel crossed. I will have to go back for another round later. In case you think I'm being a baby about it, here's an excerpt -

"Functionally, dogs are omnivores or facultative carnivores, not obligate carnivores, and they are well-suited to an omnivorous diet regardless of their taxonomic classification or ancestry."


Update. 2 steps forward, 1 step back.
I wrote this post yesterday. This morning, Georgia chucked this lot up. [Don't worry, I've cleaned the messy yellow slime off.]
Yesterday, she got 1 piece of brisket with her brekkie, and 1 chicken wing with her dinner. As you can see, bits of both came out of the front end. [God know what came out of the back.]

This is the one that bothers me the most.

It's not little and it's very sharp. I wouldn't want her to suffer from a perforated intestine so, as of this moment, and until her eating habits more raw chicken wings either.


"Oh honestly. Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with?"

p.s. I'd like to say a quick "Thank you!" to Kol's mama, the Nigella of the doggy world, who's kindly been emailing me information on bones as we struggle to find some suitable ones for Georgia :) 

*UPDATE 5 April
Please read the next post for an important correction!