This One is For the Dogs
No, I didn’t make a meal so bad that I had to commission Lila to clean up the evidence… although that does bring to mind a funny story my Grandmother has told me about a cake she once baked that was so bad that the dog wouldn’t eat it. I think it ended with her hurling it into the street, where it may have damaged a car axle… but I might be making that part up.
I’ve gone astray. I apologize; I blame the cold medicine.
Don’t be silly, obviously today, February 23rd, is National Dog Biscuit Day (really).
After perusing a variety of recipes for one that would best meet Lila’s tastes (and our pantry) I came up with these Sweet Potato biscuits. Lila seems to like them. She took it back to her bed, which Courtney says she only does with ‘special treats’ and ate it slowly while wagging her tail.
Ingredients:
- 1 cup mashed cooked sweet potato
- 1/4 cup unsweetened applesauce
- 2 cups whole-wheat flour
- 2/3 cup corn flour
- 1/3 cup nutritional yeast
- 3 tbsp chicken broth
Directions:
Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees. Mix sweet potato, apple sauce and chicken broth well in a medium sized bowl. Mix in both types of flours and nutritional yeast. Roll out on a floured counter and cut with desired cutter or knife. Cook for 20-30 minutes or until crunchy and slightly browned.
Lila knows she’s a pretty lucky dog, but she’s not sure quite how she went from rags to riches (to Lila, riches is measured in belly pats, treats, time with grandma and grandpa… oh, and her very sick mom still insisting on making her homemade treats for National Dog Biscuit Day).
When she was rescued by the Washington Humane Society in 2009, she looked like this:
This is Lila’s life now:
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I remember that cake! Grammy was also part of a neighborhood debate at the time over whether or not to put a speed bump on that street (she was for it). When she put that cake out there, I think some suspected that she was trying to short circuit the process and get her way. That cake survived several winter rainstorms and was a landmark throughout much of my senior year of high school. The stray dogs that wandered that little Spanish neighborhood would come in a pack down the center of our street, split off to either side when they got 10 meters from the cake, slink past hugging the curbs with their tails flat and their bellies close to the ground, whimpering just a bit, then resume formation once they were 10 meters past the cake.
And there you have it, the whole story. And from my father who has never exaggerated a tale in his life!