The day Ricky refused to eat

Remember last spring when Harold Camping and his merry band of evangelicals insisted that the Bible had revealed Judgment Day — and that the world was going to end on May 21?

It didn’t.

Now what I always thought is that the world was going to end if you put some food in front of my dog and he didn’t eat it.

Here are a few highlights from Ricky’s eating resume:

•  He can go from dead asleep on the couch in the playroom to at my feet in the kitchen in less than 2 seconds at the rustling of a bag of Rold Gold pretzels or a refrigerator door opening

•  One Christmas morning he located and tore into a Snickers bar that had been wrapped in a box-within-a-box-within-a-box and then wrapped in 3 layers of Santa Claus paper

•  He has found left-over sandwich crusts in the backpacks of owners who swore their bags did not — now or ever –contain any food

•  He averages 22 seconds to consume his meal — from the first nugget of kibble hitting the bowl until he’s licking his chops and looking up desperately for more

•  He will stand for hours — literally hours — waiting patiently at the feet of anyone in the kitchen, hoping against hope that this will be the time a slice of Genoa salami hits the floor

•  He can leap 3 times his height to nab a pizza slice that’s been left too close to the edge of the counter

•  He has been known to eat tissues (clean and dirty), clods of turf, carved wooden wine holders, dirt, plastic bottle caps, branches, and — I’m not proud to say this — his own poop

I’ve heard other dog owners say they’ll leave a bowl of food out all day, and their dog will graze, but never quite finish.  This would not happen in my house.

So on Tuesday morning, when Ricky sniffed at — and then refused! — first a crunchy carrot treat and then a spoonful of his beloved soft Royal Canin venison, Carol and I could only imagine the worst.  We were both panicked, and were sorely tempted to make an emergency call to the neurologist who monitors his epilepsy — but we held off.

Two hours later I called Ricky for his walk, offering a treat.  He came at me as if he’d been shot from a cannon.  Then I offered him his pills, crunched into a spoonful of venison.  He inhaled it.

Phew.  Back to normal.  Looks like the world is safe for another few zillion years.