The Puppy Chronicles: The clean plate club

Ever since Angus went on medication to help with his extreme reactivity, just about everything about him is better. He's easier on walks, he's more engaged at home, he's less anxious overall. He seems happy. But he doesn't want to eat.

Most dogs get excited at mealtime — our 11-year-old Lab mix Rosie, for instance. She loves food, all food. She moans with anticipation when we scoop out the kibble, drools in a most disgusting way when we hold up a treat.

Angus, on the other hand, runs out of the room. Sometimes he dives under the bed and hides.

It is perplexing. I realize that the combination of Gabapentin and fluoxetine can dull the appetite, but Angus acts like we are trying to poison him.

I worried about him taking powerful meds on an empty stomach, so for a long time I resorted to bribery.

At first I tried a dollop of canned food on top of the kibble. That worked — for a while. Then I tried heating the canned food, to bring out the fragrance. That also worked, for a while. Then I rooted through the refrigerator, pulling out leftovers: plain yogurt, chicken breast, feta cheese, soft roasted sweet potato.

Getting Angus to eat usually required hand feeding for the first few bites, and sometimes I nearly wept in frustration when he turned away, but whenever he finally ate, I felt happy. He will not starve on my watch, I vowed.

Our vet — a nice man, a dog lover — met with us afterward. Angus did great, he said. His health is good, but — by the way — he has gained almost 10 pounds.

Holy moly! Already the biggest dog we have ever owned at 63 pounds, Angus is now 72 pounds. I looked at him critically — well, he's certainly not skinny, but I guess seeing him every day made it harder for me to notice that he was getting bigger.

All those times he ran away and hid under the bed — maybe that wasn't the meds affecting him. Maybe he just wasn't hungry! Or maybe he was worried about gout.

Since then, we have changed our ways. No more cheese, no more chicken, no more bribery. I add about a tablespoon of cooked ground turkey to his food, and that's it. If he doesn't eat, I put the bowl on the table and go about my business.

Angus lets me know when he's hungry — stares pointedly at the table, or bumps my elbow with his nose. Since that vet appointment, he has skipped dinner only twice and has eaten every other meal, eventually. Sometimes he doesn't want to eat at 6 a.m., but who does? Besides Rosie, I mean.

Angus, too, is not starving. He is mostly fine. I am still learning to relax with him — I am working on not getting upset when he barks at another dog, or leaps at a squirrel, or doesn't eat. Just walk on, I think. He'll get there eventually, if I can stop myself from getting in his way.