Food Fight

The power of instinct.

Charlie has long been our coddled only-child dog prince. This past weekend, he shared his domain with Dingo, our son Jake and daughter-in-law Jill's 13-week-old puppy, visiting from Brooklyn. Dingo is a sensitive, adorable goofball who, when he’s tired, flops onto the floor like an abandoned Muppet.

For more than 24 hours, Charlie and Dingo peacefully coexisted. They sniffed each other’s butts. We took them for walks together, threw balls for them to fetch. On Saturday night, Dingo was in the middle of eating dinner when he got distracted. Charlie saw this as an opportunity to swoop in and make off with Dingo’s food bowl. Dingo ambled over to Charlie, no doubt thinking hey, can I have my food back? and like flipping a switch, Charlie went from chill to feral.

I was shocked. After the situation was defused, I thought about what happened. It wasn’t complicated. Charlie wanted Dingo’s food, and Dingo wanted his food back.

It was upsetting to see, but by Sunday morning, they were back to being buds. I was the one who still had to get the memory of Charlie lashing out at Dingo out of my head. I felt like he let everybody down by being an aggressive jerk.

But then, I understand dogs act on instinct. As a mother, I did, too; my own maternal instinct was to protect the baby (in this case, Dingo) from danger (Charlie).

This morning, though, I find myself nuzzling Charlie’s belly, telling him he’s a sweet boy, because he is. It was a rough few moments, now over, and it seems that unconditional love is instinctive, too, to both dogs and their mamas.