A War Of Wills

This past Sunday, I decided to get a new food and water bowl for our toy poodle, Brutus, to replace the old plastic 99-cent bowl that we got to feed a couple of cats we had shortly after Cara and I married more than 35 years ago.

There’s nothing really wrong with the brown bowl that Brutus had been eating from for the past nine years, but it had always bothered me that my regal puppy consumed his food out of an old hand-me-down bowl.

At PetsMart, there were so many food and water bowls from which to select that my head was spinning. There were chrome bowls with weights on the bottom, there were combination water-food bowls with cartoon characters, there were cheap plastic bowls and there were very expensive porcelain bowls placed inside holders of different heights to keep the dog from having to place his head and neck in an awkward position in order to consume his food.

We opted for a nice, $15 two-bowl porcelain feeder mounted on a one-inch high chrome holder, with one bowl marked “water” and the other marked “food.” To be honest, Brutus can’t read the labels on the bowls, but it’s a nice touch.

As soon as I got home with the bowls, I proudly showed them to Brutus and told him that he no longer had to eat from the cats’ bowl. I even pointed out to him the words “water” and “food” so that he would know what was what.

Then, I placed the bowls and their holder on his food mat, filled the bowl marked “water” with water and the one marked “food” with food. I thought about placing the water in the “food” bowl and the food in the “water” bowl, but Brutus already is neurotic enough.

That was Sunday afternoon. Late yesterday, I looked at his food bowl and nary a kernel had been removed. The water bowl also was full.

Apparently, Brutus doesn’t appreciate what I have done for him and appears to be holding out for the cheap, crappy plastic bowl.

Last night, Cara added some human meat to his bowl in an effort to encourage Brutus to eat. He pretty much ate the meat and left the dry food. Then, she put some food in her hand; he ate that food.

This morning, the level of food and water in the two bowls is unchanged, and I know for sure that he’s testing me.

He wants his old bowl back, but I want him to dine from his new bowl.

I’m hoping that he’ll become hungry enough that he won’t care about the type of container his food is in.

Over the nine years of his life, he’s won almost every battle he’s had with me. For some reason, I want to win this time.

I’m not going to give in (at least I don’t think I am).