Meggy and I

8 AM: The bowl is a silvery metal, tin or aluminum, and slimy with the residue of day-old dog saliva mixed with the sandy crumbs of the doggy kibbles. I pick up the bowl by the bottom rim, which is indented slightly so it is easier to grip, and slide my fingers in the crevice underneath the bowl, a valley between the upside-down mountain and rim. Inside the large dog- food bag, sitting on top of the counter, is an orange measuring cup- 1 cup it reads on the handle. The orange plastic is familiar, invoking memories of childhood, how I watched Mom fill it with flour and sugar and letting me pour it in a large mixing bowl- which I would always miss a portion and get the white powder all over the counter. Then, I would draw a line through the silky powder on the countertop, putting it on my tongue (it never tasted good yet I tried it each time). The orange plastic soon transforms the unnatural, dog food stench into the comfortable, delicious scent of chocolate chip cookies. SO I scoop the diamond shaped kibbles with the measuring cup, now an old and worn plastic that shows its use in its discolored and jagged edges edges that threaten my skin. Two scoops into the metallic cavern, and the sound is oddly satisfying for us both- my dog and I- the clank of kernels dribbling onto the aluminum face, the hardened minced manufactured meat compacted into a grainy brown material – diamond shaped. My dog sits drooling, I notice her yellow coat, and the thinner, white hair underneath that unveils itself around her nose and feet. Her body is short, stumpy, and has accumulated a series of benign tumors that bubble underneath her skin. She is a happy dog, she sits and watches me with expectant eyes and I think of Pavlov, but not for Meggy, for myself, and how I am gratified by rewarding my dog, knowing that her simple mind has now been conditioned by the sound of the orange measuring cup, my hand reaching into the tough plastic bag, the crinkling and meshing of materials. She waits excitedly in anticipation of the food. I relish the simplicity of her mind, how I can map out the connections being made, how easily satisfied she is with two cups of diamond shaped artificial meat. The sound of little pebbles hitting the tin bowl becomes the language we communicate in- it is about power, it is about love. Once the full bowl meets the floor, my dog’s mouth attacks it and she scarfs the food - a stranger might think she is forgetting to breathe between her passionate gulps, but she does it. She eats two cups in 30 seconds and then abruptly coughs, which is a half choke like she is going to throw it all back up, but takes one more swallow and waddles off, dreaming about 4 O’clock when the next meal time is.