People ask me what I miss the most about life on the mortal side of the Bridge and of course I answer my Mom, then my Dad, and Pocket, and all my friends, but honestly, the first thing that pops into my head is chicken.
Oh how I loved chicken. The smell, the taste, the texture. Sure, we can get chicken up here, but since nothing really dies in the immortal life, it’s not real chicken. It’s like pizza on the West Coast. They call it pizza, but it’s not pizza. We have chickens happily running around here, and man I would love to chop one of their heads off, rip out their guts, build a fire and roast those little suckers up, but it’s against all sorts of rules, and my understanding is it still wouldn’t taste like chicken.
I don’t think I could stand to live in a world where there were real chickens and we weren’t able to eat them. And yet my friend Molly has an allergic reaction to chicken. And to make it worse she got to taste chicken, she knows how good it is, and then it then she got chicken snatched out of her grasp.
But ultimately Molly’s story is one of survival and that’s what counts the most. For a long time Mollie had terrible tummy issues, with stuff coming out both ends. Vet trips after vet trip were made and there were no answers. Her Mom became more sad and frustrated. And then came the horrible diagnosis that cured everything.
Now Molly must go through life without the best tasting part of life: chicken. While I am happy that she is getting healthy I feel so sorry for her, having to live a chickenless life. And living chickenless isn’t as easy as just going to buy food and treats with another protein listed on the front because chicken is very plentiful and most dog foods like to add a bit ot if to their recipes even if it doesn’t say chicken in big letters on the package.
This week Molly went seven days without taking the medicine for her tummy with no adverse results so this is a big week for her and her parents. I would rather have a long life with my Mommy than chicken. I did deliberate about this for a long time but it’s what I decided.
So here is to Molly and to all healthy recovering dogs. The more healthy, recovering dogs we have the less work I have to do and less work makes me happy.
It gives me more time to eat crappy tasting fake chicken.