The Raw Side of Life

Not all of you reading this will be aware that I feed my dogs a raw diet.  For more information about this, you might like to read Hovawarts on a Raw Diet and whilst you are over there, you may well find yourself reading a lot more!  Kenzo has been writing much longer than me and about more stuff than I ever will.  Well worth a visit or two - or three.

Anyway, most of the time raw feeding is pretty simple, especially when you get into a routine of keeping the freezer stocked and remembering to take stuff out in time to defrost.  Feeding raw is very rewarding in that the dogs are full of vitality, have super coats, clean teeth, sweet breath, they don't smell (unless they have rolled in their chosen perfume) and they really, really enjoy their food.

Tussock showing newcomer River how to eat her chicken

Tussock as a puppy herself, in blissful enjoyment of her food

Sometimes, however, things go a little wrong, and before you read any further I have to give you a WARNING – This may make you feel queasy if you have just eaten, or may put you off your food. 

This story begins on a later summer’s afternoon last year.  I was planning a short break to join my brother and his family on the Isle of Eigg in October and needed to take several days’s food for the dogs.  I would not have fridge or freezer space on getting there, and everything I took had to be carried on my person or on my bicycle.  The cottage we were staying in was several miles up the island - I would cycle and the dogs would run.  

I found a chiller rucksack on the internet and thought that would do the job – easy to carry on the bike, and it could live in the cold room at the cottage where we were staying.  It worked just fine - we had a great holiday, and the food stayed cool enough not to go off.

A week or so after coming home I ordered more food via the butcher and as usual had too much to fit into the freezer.  I had a lightbulb moment and thought of the rucksack – if I changed the chiller block every day, it would keep in there for up to a week.  Great idea!

However, a week or few later, I detected an odour in the shed – of the wrinkly nose variety.  I had a quick look around for the cause but found nothing, so assumed I had dropped a bit of chicken carcass behind the freezer.  Me being a lazy sod elected to let the mice eat it as it would make a change to their usual raids on the horse feed bins and bird food.  But it seemed as though it was in a place that even the mice couldn’t get at as the smell wasn’t going away and, in fact, it was causing pre-emptive nose wrinkling before entering the shed.  I kept thinking I should have a clear out, but …………… it never got done, and quite frankly I lived with it in the knowledge it would go away - one day.

At Christmas I visited my family and on returning home I had two turkeys that needed to go in the freezer - I had done the last minute turkey run to Tesco and these enormous birds cost me just £7 each.  I donned my head torch to go out in the dark, and after depositing the birds in the freezer I swung round to exit the shed.  The light of the torch caught on something – ah, my little green chiller sack that I had been looking for to take with me over Christmas.  Silly me leaving it out there.  No wonder I couldn't find it.  I will take it inside and put it away properly.

It was heavy.  Oh shit.  The smell.  Oh god. 

Most folks would have just chucked the sack and its contents in the bin.  But having bought it and only used it once, that seemed such a waste.  And so, with a virtual clothes peg on my nose, I tried to open the zip.  No chance.  Got the pliers – success.  From within the bag, this green brown aroma arose and hit me full force as I tipped the liquefied contents in the bin and covered them with ash from the fire.  Now what?  At arms length I took the sack to one of the water butts and filled it with water to tip down the drain and get rid of the worst of the gunk and slime.  Then I slung it in the washing machine to give it a wash.

When the wash had finished, I opened the door of the machine only to be accosted by this familiar smell once again.  I promptly threw it back in and washed it again.  Then a third wash along with some muddy dog towels.  The washing machine stopped smelling at this point, but the rucksack still was a bit odorous.  I hung it up in the conservatory convinced that time would deal with the smell through the colder months.

I am haunted by this smell.  I know its every contour, every mood, and every colour. 

I had intended going back out to the shed to clean up the area ……………………………. But I forgot.  Until today and that is when I found the maggots.  I made a rapid exit from the shed to regain my composure.  I have always thought I had no phobias, but now I realise that, due to a incident about 30 years ago, maggots en masse are my phobia.

I learnt a lesson from this - and now have a second freezer to take the overflow!