It is inescapable now. Otto the rescue pitbull does not like bacon.
I was making breakfast for dinner tonight, and fried up some bacon. When it was done I took a piece out to let it cool on a paper towel.
I gave it to Otto and he, as he always does with any particularly messy food, carried it into the living room to eat on the new rug. I thought nothing of it.
Then I walked into the living room a few minutes later and there it was. Sitting there, untouched on the carpet. Mocking me.
The uneaten bacon.
I tried everything. I desperately offered it to him again as he was sleeping on the sofa. He turned up his nose then looked away.
I pulled out the big guns. I acted like I was eating it, making “nom, nom, nom” sounds and saying “Mmmm, DELICIOUS!” like I do right before he rejects yet another expensive doggy treat and then eats some poop.
Nothing. He just looked at me, yawned and then licked his rope toy.
A rope toy? Over bacon?
You turn it over in your mind. Where did I go wrong?
There were signs I ignored. He would not take bacon-flavored treats. He did not like Pupperoni™.
I should have known. But I was in denial.
Where did I go wrong? Did I love him too much? Did I love him not enough?
What will the other parents at the dog park say?
“His dog does not like bacon. Also he doesn’t use biodegradable waste disposal bags.”
The words ring in my ears.
I don’t want to talk about it.
I will post a vague reference on Facebook to something being wrong and hope nobody takes that extra step of asking, “What happened? Are you OK?”
The world seems off-kilter right now.