There is only one word that aptly describes Macaulay the family dog’s food.
And that word is ‘chow’.
Chow, I am informed, is an Americanism: that is to say, one of the many flamboyant etymological flights of fancy this language of ours took, when it existed cheek-to jowl with all the peoples who converged on the American nation in the steaming nineteenth century.
It was H.L. Mencken who accorded status to the American language, setting down a razor-sharp image of a language which was continuing to evolve in its own absorbing way.
Mencken, Sage of Baltimore, didn’t just dish out theory: he was a fabulous writer, essayist and syndicated columnist. When a Sage quotes a humourist, you have to listen.
Mencken once chose Finley Peter Dunne for this very purpose. “When the American people get through with the English language,” Dunne says, ” it will look as if it had been run over by a musical comedy.”
But I digress. Back to chow.
The four rough (and I use that word advisedly) categories for the dog’s chow are: i) posh chow; ii) cheap chow; iii) cat chow; and finally, iv) pilfered chow.
Posh chow is my middle class attempt at making sure my dog eats healthily, which is a farce, because he goes out into the forest and eats decomposed deers’ legs for fun.
Every now and again, usually in the couple of days just after payday when I dispense largesse, I buy organic food for the family and posh chow for the dog. You would think, at the princely price of nine-ish pounds a packet, that its makers would have taken steps to ensure it was irresistible to our beloved mutts, in the same way that `James Bond ensnares women.
No so. The dog’s posh chow consists of tedious pellets which resemble nothing so much as rabbit’s droppings.
The dog is fastidiously polite, belying his pungent aura. He waits each morning and evening until the children have had their meal and then he sits at the foot of my chair and plays mind games. His stare is worthy of a colonel engaged in espionage, and his moustache matches. His eyes bore into the very soul of She Who Must Fill The Bowl: regardless of whether she has finished her chow.
But when I sigh, and haul myself up, and reach the posh chow from the top of the fridge to fill his bowl, he emanates deeply unimpressed.
No: he simply acts as if I have not filled his bowl at all.
He remains there with that piercing stare which resonates expectation on a frequency finely tuned to bore into my subconscious.
It is not pleasant, the ensuing battle of wills. Even at bedtime he has not relented. Phil runs through an inventory…has he had a walk? A play? His chow?
The answer to all three is yes. But I know the dread secret: and it is posh chow.
So by about the sixth of the month I am poorer, less magnanimous and more ground-down. I potter down to the local miracle store: that continental one which seems to manage to produce heavenly food for less.
This must include their dog food, I feel sure. I pay two pounds something for a great big bag, and when I fill his bowl with cheap chow he ceases his mind melding, and with a polite non-verbal doff of the proverbial cap, he tucks in.
This works well for the middle of the month: but as payday approaches the doggie cupboard can become a little bare.
It is at this time that we resort to item iii): cat chow.
The cat has an inexhaustible supply of cat food because Kit Kat has a different Quartermaster to Macaulay. My calm, careful, measured mother-in-law ensures the little feline is never without sustenance.
Consequently it has not been unknown to let the dog have the cat’s chow on the 28th and 29th of a month.
It is not ideal, because the cat is generally and quite correctly outraged, and the cat food has a disastrous effect on the gas-generation valves within the little terrier’s sturdy body.
If we do resort to cat chow, we pay.
Which brings me to Macaulay’s overtime: the way he supplements his meagre dry-meal income.
He has a little racket going on the side, see.
A gifted thief with a petty criminal’s blood racing through his little veins, he loves nothing more than to pilfer when his family’s back is turned.
Pilfered chow is usually out of reach, but that’s never bothered Macaulay. If it’s close to the edge of the surface he can access, almost miraculously, a whole range of bread and meat-based products, and the first evidence we find is an empty packet stashed at his lair.
The very act of thieving is joy itself, an act of creativity and ingenuity, and his chow’s very contraband status, I feel sure, adds immeasurably to the flavour.
That is, if it ever touches the sides as it goes down.
He does wolf his chow.
Kate Shrewsday 
I am very surprised how many Americanisms are understood by my South African, New Zealand, British and Australian English speakers that comment on my blog These sayings are unique to America and unique even to regions within America.
They are, Carl. I must sit down and read Mencken’s book sometime to find out more.
True enough, ‘chow’ would be widely understood in New Zealand and Australia. So many of our everyday words come from America that I don’t feel it’s okay any more to even call them ‘Americanisms’. It would be like calling the rest of our language ‘Englishisms’. If it’s used Down Under, we own it! (Despite the anomaly that in linguistic terminology it’s called ‘borrowing’. We ain’t about to give any of ’em back…)
Totally, Lynley 😀 Is there a world manual in the evolution of the English language, I wonder? It would make amazing reading.
Hollywood, Carl.
That’s all I have to say on the matter 🙂
I had a feeling that there is something in cat food that is bad for dogs, but cant’ find any thing on this. This clip came from Wiki http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dog_food
Dangerous foods and toxic substances
A number of common human foods and household ingestibles are toxic to dogs, including chocolate solids (theobromine poisoning), onion and garlic (thiosulphate, sulfoxide or disulfide poisoning[17]), grapes and raisins, macadamia nuts, as well as various plants and other potentially ingested materials.[18][19] Green tomatoes should be avoided in a dog’s diet because they contain tomatine, which is harmful to dogs. As the tomato ripens and turns red the tomatine disappears, and the tomato become safe for the dog to eat. The tomato plant itself is toxic.
[edit] See also
Posh chow would be ‘posh nosh’ I suppose? (a phrase my father used to use 🙂 )
It would. Much more British 😀
(I’ve come back to say, ‘sorry’ if that last comment looked bossy! It wasn’t meant to. )
Not at all! Been starved of that incisive research ability recently!
Oooh, thanks Pseu, top research as usual…I’ll check the ingredients of Whiskas out…
I may have to resort to cat chow come the end of the month myself, Kate. You have me smiling over here, getting ready to start our evening chow.
We Yanks do have a way with words, don’t we? ha! Loved this.
I love the way America has enriched the language, Penny 🙂
Loved this:
Mencken once chose Finley Peter Dunne for this very purpose. “When the American people get through with the English language,” Dunne says, ” it will look as if it had been run over by a musical comedy.”
And this:
His stare is worthy of a colonel engaged in espionage, and his moustache matches. His eyes bore into the very soul of She Who Must Fill The Bowl: regardless of whether she has finished her chow.
Macauley is a regular chow hound, eh?
He certainly is, Nancy 😀
Laugh out loud funny! Thank you! You’re right about the ‘posh’ food — neither of my hounds liked it when I switched them from the normal, run-of-the-mill dog food I had been buying them. But, once they were hungry enough they ate it.
It’s just like kids, isn’t it, Kathy? Maybe I should just persevere with the good chow,
Rest assured I enjoy your Englishisms as much as you enjoy our Americanisms. That’s half the fun of reading your blog. We do mangle the language, don’t we? A tiny minority of us try to keep the rest on the straight and narrow, but it’s a losing battle.
I know all about that “feed me” stare from the dog. I’m getting it right now. At 6 pm every evening, my Annie goes over to the back door, jingles her “I want out” bell to get my attention, and then bores into me with that stare until I finally get up and feed her. She knows perfectly well I go into the kitchen about this time every day to fix my dinner, and she wants hers too. I best oblige; she won’t stop until I do.
😀 A creature of habit, Pied Type. Pavlov sure knew what he was talking about.
I can never spot Americanisms in your posts…..
Roll your eyes, Kate, my Z gets vegan posh and quinoa berry bars for desert. oy!
Vegan chow….I loved your last reports of the dog’s dinner at yours. Bet he (she?) dines like a king….
I do think he is entitled to a little pilfered chow. None of the other options sound appetizing enough. 🙂
I’m with you there, Banno…:-)
Until recently I had a pair of chihuahuas – who were so polite that if I were to put my dinner on the floor, to maybe answer the phone, they would deliberately look the other way to avoid temptation. They were little marvels.
They sound eminently presentable, Tooty. Such table manners!
He is a very doggy dog.
My cats on the other hand turn sneeringly from the cheaper food brands, and tuck in happily to the more expensive stuff, wolfing down the frighteningly costly specialised kitten food I bought when Nunu was apparentky not growing properly.
Of course they LOVE their little mince treat every evening
Disky (never Lulubelle!) is prone to stealing the cats’ food and I understand the gas-evidence well 😉
It’s grim, isn’t it Cindy? Nice to have you around. Hope blogging can regain some of its lustre.
American is a distinct language from English. After the American Revolution, a deliberate attempt was made to set up a separate language, hence the differences – like colour/color – that make us Brits pull our eyeballs out.
If you want a course on the evolution of English, the Open University do a good one.
Great tip, Tilly! (Can’t spare three years but a ten weeker might be a goer…)
But didn’t they realise that ‘color’ is Spanish? Not very original were they!
LOL You said it, Tooty 😀
LOL! I’m sure you’re spot on about pilfered chow being that much more tasty, Kate 😀 Quest has nabbed his share too, most notably Dave’s roast chicken lunch off our counter. Somehow he didn’t seem in the least remorseful!
I expect the roast chicken rush was an experience so intense it was very difficult to regret, Naomi 😀
I work with students in an American university…I sadly report that the “American vocabulary” is not poised on the precipice of improvement! Maybe that is in part why I so enjoy reading your beautifully written posts!
As for chow! I’m daily feeding broccoli, cauliflower and carrots to a growing tortoise –posh chow indeed! 🙂 Debra
That IS posh chow, Debra. What a truly happy tortoise you must have! And it sounds like there’s a whole PhD in your students original use of the language…
As long as it’s only Macauley who has to resort to eating the cat’s food, Kate
I do solemnly swear never to feed cat chow to my son, my daughter, or my husband….
Ah yes, I have to guard against my chow hounds pilfering the cat food constantly. Lively and lovely Kate.
Thanks, Tammy 🙂
You should look into a Raw or BARF diet for your dog. It’s very healthy and if you have the freezer space it works out much cheaper than the usual ‘kibbles’. As for him prefering the cheaper stuff, that’s no different to kids preferring McDonalds.
Good point, Shen: thanks for coming over to offer such solid advice 🙂
Interesting post Kate! I had no idea about all the different categories of dog chow! Probably when I get my own dog someday I will learn all about that too. 🙂
Thanks Brittany: these categories should be approached with caution as I approach life in a deplorably haphazard fashion and the dog has to eat accordingly 😀 Your measured approach to life will, I’m sure, ensure any dog you own will be a very happy, well-fed soul…