Food Fight

I’m not a competitive person. That’s probably why I didn't excel on the swim team in high school. Well, that and the fact that "belly-flop-splash-and-try-not-to-drown" is not yet a respected stroke. In any case, I hate feeling like I’m in competition.. especially when its one-on-one. Which makes my walks with Clifford (the big, red, 90-lb bundle of love) a bit more trying.

Clifford and I have our differences. 1. he has feelings for me that I cannot reciprocate. 2. he is rather large, and 3. he has got the appetite of a walrus in heat (I hear they get very hungry during that time). Now compare that to me: I’m not interested in a romantic relationship; I'm what you would call "petite" (I've often been compared to the hobbit in Lord of the Rings); and I’m an extremely picky eater. I "graze", as my mother would put it...and you cant get me to eat just anything.

Not so, for Clifford. Cliff will eat anything that walks in front of his path. He's like Pac-man on steroids: Day-old sandwiches, candy, chicken -- there were even a few times when he just licked the sidewalk. And unlike me, he will not make a fuss if a piece of chicken has bones in it, or if a piece of bread was touching a homeless person. He will eat anything, and in its entirety.

Obviously, this is not the best diet for a dog to uphold. Eating an entire rack of lamb (bones and all) is, beyond impressive, also utterly disgusting. My job as his dog walker and friend, is to notice the food before he does, and steer clear. But its not an easy task when competing with the largest and most gifted scavenger this side of the Mississippi. He will spot the food that is camouflaged, hidden under rocks, shadowed, obscure and just overall concealed. Trust me, if the WMD's were chicken-flavored, Cliff would have found them months ago.

My job, is a difficult one. Each day, I slap on my leather grip mittens, secure my head gear, and slick my hair back into a tight ponytail. Then, comes the most important step; The key to whether or not I will win the day's challenge, or forfeit cowardly to my hairy opponent: The leash wrap-around. Ill slowly stick my hand inside the leash loop and gently wind it around my entire arm, behind my back, around my waist and then back around the other arm. If there's extra leash, I may wind it around my forehead "Rambo" style. I’ve mastered it just so... that if I do the whole thing really fast, it sort of looks like I’m playing with numchucks.

Only then am I ready. And at that moment, Clifford and I are no longer dog and dog walker. But intense opponents... Just trying to get the job done.

Most days, Ill catch Clifford before he dives for food. Ill figure it out just in time and plant myself, skid forward a bit and then come to a stop... leaving only inches between his nose and the half piece of day-old pie on the sidewalk. Those days I feel like a hero.

And then there are other days. The ones where we'll be almost finished with our walk, Ill be ready to pat myself on the back for a job well done.. and then out of nowhere, Cliff will subtly and inconspicuously grab a full leg of lamb out from under a nearby bush. Since I’m not inclined to stick my hand inside his whale size jaws, Ill just have to sit there and watch him eat the entire thing in front of me. And he will take his sweet time: licking his paws, chewing really slowly and making joyful "ugh this is soo good" noises as he finishes it off. Those are the days that get me.

For a non-competitive person, I am a horribly sore loser. I can only seek solace in the fact that I’m getting better each day. At the beginning of this journey, Clifford would look at his walk as an all access pass to Old Country Buffet. Today, he looks at it as a challenge. The fact that I am am able to challenge, quite possibly, the most courageous eater in the world, makes me feel proud.