Dog In The Manger

Perhaps you've heard the phrase "dog in the manger." It's derogatory, arising from a fable in which a dog enters a barn, but can't eat the hay. Even though he can't eat it, he won't give it up to the barn animals who would eat it. In some versions, the dog pees on the hay so no one can eat it.

Obviously, Aesop never met Bermondsey. Ever since the snow melted and the grass began to turn green, a walk around the neighborhood is like a trip to the world's longest salad bar. Bermondsey eats grass. There are some particular spots--under a picket fence, along a railroad tie retaining wall--where the grass is rarely cut because the mower can't reach. These are his favorite spots to stop and gnaw.

The design flaw is obvious immediately. Dog teeth just are not made to pluck grass, much less chew it. Yet he patiently works the blades over until he gets something in his mouth.

Better still, however, is when we give the guinea pig her daily hay. I opened a new bag of hay today, and after filling the hay rack, I put the rest into a large storage bin to keep it out of reach of varmints. Bermondsey was up on his hind legs immediately, with his nose in the piles and piles of yummy hay, and he grabbed what he could before the lid went back on. Then he nosed around for what fell out of the guinea pig cage.

It's also inconvenient, because now he won't potty in the yard anymore--because he doesn't want to foul his salad bowl, I guess.