The way I feel about my body has shifted as my body itself has shifted slowly from the privileged toned high school version to a more Rubenesque feminine one. I have curves in places that I'm proud of and pooches I wish I could cut off. But my body itself is a signifier of the undulating beliefs about how I should feed myself and, by extension, how I should feed the pets I've taken into my charge.
In college, I found two stray kittens in an alleyway. My roommates and I bottle-fed them milk and drowned their fleas in dishsoap bathwater. Rosie and Remy were sisters not twins. Rosie was skittish and broody. Remy was social and snuggly. As they began eating solid food, Rosie grew lanky and Remy more rounded. Like the college students around them, the cats settled into the shapes the slight differences in their genes had encoded. Because they could be seen in comparison, Remy's weight gain seemed unnatural.
For years we joked about Remy's weight, chastised her for meowing for constant feedings, and eventually became earnestly worried about whether or not she was healthy. Jessica, Remy's permanent owner, tried vet-proposed diets and specialty "weight-control" food. While we were talking, fretting, and trying to thin Remy's body, we were also working through ideas about our own bodies. Certain cultural norms may influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. For Jessica, who embraced intuitive eating over the years of Remy's life, feeding Remy when the cat was hungry aligned with her commitment to feeding herself when she felt hungry. Remy, it seemed, deserved the same kindness Jessica was cultivating for herself.
Years after college, in my kitchen late after attending the wedding of my childhood friend, my dog Scout whined at me. My party dress had been tight around my softening body all evening and I felt acutely aware of the days I skipped after-work workouts. Scout hadn't been fed and cried for her evening portion of kibble. I gave her a measly half a scoop and poured some diet cereal for myself. We finished our bowls around the same time and both went to bed hungry.
I couldn't help but think about the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my weight. I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard. But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities?
It wasn't until days later when we went on a run together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied. It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
I admire Jessica's early adoption of intuitive eating and regret the fat-phobia I extended onto the innocent Remy. How could this cat know, how can any of us know, what shapes our bodies are meant to take, the roundedness or sharpness hidden in our genes, the weight at which we feel genuinely healthy? When I was restricting my eating, I thought I was helping my future self maintain the body that had helped me avoid negative attention. I thought I was restricting for "bad" foods. But I think, in the same way that the different shapes of kibble and cereal are made from the same stuff, that the health concerns I had for myself and the pets in my life were a mask for the damaging (if culturally pervasive) ideas about fatness. Being thin, as a person or as a pet, has no moral value and my fear of my own fatness has hurt the furry friends as well as myself.
Food shopping for specific human diet goals would be easier if we had a version of the kibble aisle. Bags of pet food declare "weight-control" and "complete nutrition" with an authority that has been overthrown elsewhere in the supermarket. Sure, bags of chips and pre-cut veggies make similar claims, but I don't believe them like I believe the bag of food I buy for my pet will help them slim down as per the vet's orders.
The way I feel about my body has shifted as my body itself has shifted slowly from the privileged toned high school version to a more Rubenesque feminine one. I have curves in places that I'm proud of and pooches I wish I could cut off. But my body itself is a signifier of the undulating beliefs about how I should feed myself and, by extension, how I should feed the pets I've taken into my charge.
In college, I found two stray kittens in an alleyway. My roommates and I bottle-fed them milk and drowned their fleas in dishsoap bathwater. Rosie and Remy were sisters not twins. Rosie was skittish and broody. Remy was social and snuggly. As they began eating solid food, Rosie grew lanky and Remy more rounded. Like the college students around them, the cats settled into the shapes the slight differences in their genes had encoded. Because they could be seen in comparison, Remy's weight gain seemed unnatural.
For years we joked about Remy's weight, chastised her for meowing for constant feedings, and eventually became earnestly worried about whether or not she was healthy. Jessica, Remy's permanent owner, tried vet-proposed diets and specialty "weight-control" food. While we were talking, fretting, and trying to thin Remy's body, we were also working through ideas about our own bodies. Certain cultural norms may influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. For Jessica, who embraced intuitive eating over the years of Remy's life, feeding Remy when the cat was hungry aligned with her commitment to feeding herself when she felt hungry. Remy, it seemed, deserved the same kindness Jessica was cultivating for herself.
Years after college, in my kitchen late after attending the wedding of my childhood friend, my dog Scout whined at me. My party dress had been tight around my softening body all evening and I felt acutely aware of the days I skipped after-work workouts. Scout hadn't been fed and cried for her evening portion of kibble. I gave her a measly half a scoop and poured some diet cereal for myself. We finished our bowls around the same time and both went to bed hungry.
I couldn't help but think about the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my weight. I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard. But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities?
It wasn't until days later when we went on a run together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied. It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
I admire Jessica's early adoption of intuitive eating and regret the fat-phobia I extended onto the innocent Remy. How could this cat know, how can any of us know, what shapes our bodies are meant to take, the roundedness or sharpness hidden in our genes, the weight at which we feel genuinely healthy? When I was restricting my eating, I thought I was helping my future self maintain the body that had helped me avoid negative attention. I thought I was restricting for "bad" foods. But I think, in the same way that the different shapes of kibble and cereal are made from the same stuff, that the health concerns I had for myself and the pets in my life were a mask for the damaging (if culturally pervasive) ideas about fatness. Being thin, as a person or as a pet, has no moral value and my fear of my own fatness has hurt the furry friends as well as myself.
Food shopping for specific human diet goals would be easier if we had a version of the kibble aisle. Bags of pet food declare "weight-control" and "complete nutrition" with an authority that has been overthrown elsewhere in the supermarket. Sure, bags of chips and pre-cut veggies make similar claims, but I don't believe them like I believe the bag of food I buy for my pet will help them slim down as per the vet's orders.
The way I feel about my body has shifted as my body itself has shifted slowly from the privileged toned high school version to a more Rubenesque feminine one. I have curves in places that I'm proud of and pooches I wish I could cut off. But my body itself is a signifier of the undulating beliefs about how I should feed myself and, by extension, how I should feed the pets I've taken into my charge.
In college, I found two stray kittens in an alleyway. My roommates and I bottle-fed them milk and drowned their fleas in dishsoap bathwater. Rosie and Remy were sisters not twins. Rosie was skittish and broody. Remy was social and snuggly. As they began eating solid food, Rosie grew lanky and Remy more rounded. Like the college students around them, the cats settled into the shapes the slight differences in their genes had encoded. Because they could be seen in comparison, Remy's weight gain seemed unnatural.
For years we joked about Remy's weight, chastised her for meowing for constant feedings, and eventually became earnestly worried about whether or not she was healthy. Jessica, Remy's permanent owner, tried vet-proposed diets and specialty "weight-control" food. While we were talking, fretting, and trying to thin Remy's body, we were also working through ideas about our own bodies. Certain cultural norms may influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. For Jessica, who embraced intuitive eating over the years of Remy's life, feeding Remy when the cat was hungry aligned with her commitment to feeding herself when she felt hungry. Remy, it seemed, deserved the same kindness Jessica was cultivating for herself.
Years after college, in my kitchen late after attending the wedding of my childhood friend, my dog Scout whined at me. My party dress had been tight around my softening body all evening and I felt acutely aware of the days I skipped after-work workouts. Scout hadn't been fed and cried for her evening portion of kibble. I gave her a measly half a scoop and poured some diet cereal for myself. We finished our bowls around the same time and both went to bed hungry.
I couldn't help but think about the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my weight. I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard. But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities?
It wasn't until days later when we went on a run together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied. It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
I admire Jessica's early adoption of intuitive eating and regret the fat-phobia I extended onto the innocent Remy. How could this cat know, how can any of us know, what shapes our bodies are meant to take, the roundedness or sharpness hidden in our genes, the weight at which we feel genuinely healthy? When I was restricting my eating, I thought I was helping my future self maintain the body that had helped me avoid negative attention. I thought I was restricting for "bad" foods. But I think, in the same way that the different shapes of kibble and cereal are made from the same stuff, that the health concerns I had for myself and the pets in my life were a mask for the damaging (if culturally pervasive) ideas about fatness. Being thin, as a person or as a pet, has no moral value and my fear of my own fatness has hurt the furry friends as well as myself.
The obsession with thinness in Willow Creek was not limited to humans - it extended to their beloved pets as well. In an effort to keep their dogs slim and fit, the town had instituted strict regulations on their diets and exercise routines. Owners were required to feed their dogs only specific types and amounts of food, and to monitor their calorie intake closely. Moreover, dogs were expected to exercise regularly, often for hours a day, in order to maintain a lean physique.
These regulations had a significant impact on the lives of both pets and owners. Dogs were often hungry and tired from their intense exercise routines, and many of them suffered from injuries or other health issues as a result of being pushed too hard. Owners, meanwhile, became consumed with monitoring their dogs' diets and exercise, often sacrificing other aspects of their lives in order to do so.
Despite these challenges, the people of Willow Creek remained steadfast in their belief that thinness was the key to happiness and health. They were convinced that their strict regulations were necessary in order to keep their pets healthy and fit, and that anything less would be neglectful or even abusive.
It was only with the intervention of Sadie, and her message of body positivity and self-love, that this rigid paradigm began to shift. Through her advocacy and the efforts of like-minded individuals, Willow Creek started to embrace a more balanced and compassionate approach to pet care, one that focused on overall health and happiness rather than thinness above all else. And while change was slow and difficult, it was ultimately successful, paving the way for a brighter future for both people and pets alike.
Dog foods are marketed through various mediums, including television ads, social media campaigns, email marketing, and in-store promotions. While some companies may focus on traditional advertising methods, others might have more innovative approaches such as leveraging influencers on social media or partnering with shelters.
Dog foods are typically marketed based on their quality, nutritional value, and unique features. Companies may highlight the source of their protein, the use of natural or organic ingredients, or their specific blend of vitamins and minerals. Other common marketing strategies include highlighting the taste and texture of the food, highlighting the absence of fillers or additives, and touting endorsements from veterinarians or other pet professionals.
Currently, many pet food companies focus on targeted marketing, catering to dogs at different life stages, or those with specific dietary needs or preferences. For example, "puppy food" may be marketed towards new dog owners, while "senior dog food" may be marketed towards owners of older dogs. Additionally, there are dog foods offered for dogs with special dietary requirements, such as grain-free or low-fat diets.
It is worth noting that there can be a lot of competition between dog food companies who have a vested interest in attracting consumers to their products. Therefore, it can be a challenge for consumers to determine which type of food is truly best for their dogs, and one should always consult with a veterinarian before making significant dietary changes for their dog.
As Sadie and her team continued to advocate for a more balanced approach to pet care, they faced opposition from those who clung to the old ways. However, they persevered, spreading their message through social media campaigns, public events, and educational programs. And as they gained more and more supporters, Willow Creek began to transform into a more inclusive and accepting community. Dog owners started to prioritize the health and happiness of their pets over their appearance, and the once-rigid regulations governing pet diets and exercise routines began to loosen. Instead, the focus shifted to creating bonds with pets through play, training, and daily walks, forging lifelong friendships based on mutual love and respect. In the end, Sadie's message of body positivity and self-love not only transformed the lives of pets and their owners but also enriched an entire community.
Determining what a healthy weight is for a dog requires an understanding of a few key factors. These include their breed, age, gender, activity level, and overall health status. A veterinarian can help to assess these factors and determine an appropriate weight range for a particular dog.
One common method for determining whether a dog is a healthy weight is to use the Body Condition Score (BCS) system. The BCS system is a scale from 1-9, with a score of 1 indicating emaciation and a score of 9 indicating obesity. A score of 5 indicates a healthy weight. To assess a dog's BCS, factors such as the visibility of the ribs, the presence of a waist, and the amount of body fat are evaluated.
Another way to determine a healthy weight for a dog is to calculate their Body Mass Index (BMI). This is calculated by dividing the weight of the dog in kilograms by the square of their height in meters. A BMI range of 18.5-24.9 is considered healthy for dogs.
It's important to note that each dog is different, and there is no "one size fits all" approach to determining a healthy weight. Factors such as breed, age, and activity level can all impact what a healthy weight looks like for a particular dog. Therefore, consulting with a veterinarian is key in determining whether a dog is at a healthy weight.
While the Body Mass Index (BMI) is frequently used to screen for weight categories that may lead to health problems, it is not always reliable indicator of physical health. This is because BMI only takes into account a person's height and weight, without considering other factors that can affect their overall health. For instance, a muscular person may have a higher BMI due to their higher muscle mass, which is heavier than fat, and therefore can indicate that the person is overweight, even though they are physically fit and healthy.
Additionally, BMI does not differentiate between weight from muscle and weight from fat, which are two distinct types of body mass with different health implications. This can result in an inaccurate assessment of a person's weight category. For example, a person with a BMI within the "normal weight" range may actually have an unhealthy level of body fat, which can lead to health problems such as high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease.
Moreover, BMI may not apply equally to different populations such as children, elderly adults, athletes, and some ethnic groups who may carry different proportions of muscle and fat. This could mean that a person with a lower BMI may be at a higher risk for health problems than someone with a higher BMI, just because of differences in body composition or body type.
Overall, while the Body Mass Index can be a useful screening tool to quickly assess whether a person falls into a weight category that may lead to health problems, it is important to keep in mind that it has limitations and cannot provide a complete picture of a person's physical health. A more comprehensive assessment of health and wellness should involve evaluations of diet, exercise, body fat percentage, and other measures, along with consultation with a qualified health professional.
There can be a connection between how dog owners eat and how they feed their dogs, as both can be influenced by similar lifestyle and cultural factors. For example, some dog owners may view their pets as an extension of themselves and may choose to feed their dogs the same types of food that they eat. Others may make dietary decisions for their dogs based on their own beliefs about health and nutrition, such as feeding their dogs gluten-free or vegan diets.
Additionally, certain cultural norms may influence both how dog owners eat and how they feed their dogs. For example, in cultures where thinness is highly prized, dog owners may prioritize keeping their pets lean and fit, even if it means subjecting them to strict diets and exercise routines. Similarly, cultures that place a high emphasis on convenience and efficiency may be more likely to feed their dogs pre-packaged processed foods rather than whole foods.
Another factor that can influence how dog owners eat and feed their dogs is their level of awareness and education on pet nutrition. Those who are more informed about the nutritional needs of dogs may be more likely to make informed dietary decisions for their pets, whereas those who are less knowledgeable may rely more heavily on marketing, trends or fads, or personal biases when selecting foods.
It is worth noting that while there can be a connection between how dog owners eat and how they feed their dogs, it is important to prioritize the nutritional needs of dogs over any perceived cultural norms, fads, or personal preferences. Proper nutrition is crucial to the health and wellbeing of dogs, and consultation with a veterinarian or animal nutritionist can help ensure that dogs are being fed appropriately.
Just like how owners tend to bear resemblances to their pets, there can be resemblances between how dog owners eat and how they feed their furry companions. This connection can be influenced by a myriad of lifestyle and cultural factors, akin to how patterns emerge in a woven tapestry. Some owners may view their dogs as extensions of themselves, blurring the lines between human and animal dietary trends. Others might make dietary decisions based on their personal beliefs about health and nutrition, like feeding their furry friend vegan or gluten-free diets. It's common for cultural norms to influence both how dog owners eat and how they feed their dogs, such as thinness being highly coveted in certain societies resulting in strict diets and dedicated exercise routines for dogs. In other cultures, notions of convenience and efficiency might lead dog owners to turn to pre-packaged processed foods rather than whole foods for their pets' sustenance. Ultimately, it's important to prioritize the nutritional needs of dogs over any cultural norms or personal preferences, as a nourished animal is a happy animal.
"There's definitely a connection between how I choose to eat and feed my dog," said Emily, making eye contact with the veterinarian. "I'm a vegan, so it only made sense for my dog to be vegan as well," she continued. The veterinarian nodded, "That makes sense, but make sure you're consulting with a pet nutritionist to ensure your dog is getting all the essential nutrients they need."
Certain cultural norms, such as a focus on thinness, can also play a role in dog owners' feeding practices. "I've definitely seen owners wanting their dogs to be as thin as possible because being thin is associated with beauty and health," remarked Sadie, founder of the local Animal Wellness Center. "But sometimes, owners are going too far and their dogs end up being undernourished."
Those who are less knowledgeable about pet nutrition might rely on marketing, trends, or personal biases when selecting foods for their dogs. "I admit, I'm not really sure what my dog needs in terms of nutrition," said Max, sheepishly. The veterinarian smiled kindly, "Don't worry, you're not alone. But it's important to do some research or seek out professional advice to ensure your dog is healthy and happy."
When it comes to the way dog owners approach food, many take a holistic view that extends to their pets as well. For example, individuals who are health-conscious and emphasize fresh, whole foods in their diet might be more likely to feed their dogs a similar type of diet. On the other hand, a person who values convenience and time-saving strategies might default to pre-packaged, highly processed dog food.
Cultural factors can also have a significant impact on how dogs are fed. For instance, in cultures where thinness is highly prized, owners may prioritize an ultra-restrictive diet for their dogs as a means of keeping them lean and fit. This could mean the dog is strictly limited in the types of food they consume or subjected to rigid exercise routines.
However, as much as owners may try to mirror their dietary habits in their dogs, it is important to remember that canines have different biological needs than humans. Here, nutrition expertise comes into play when it comes to ensuring that dogs are being fed a diet that is both safe and healthy.
As it stands, a dog’s diet should consist of a balanced blend of protein, fat, carbohydrates and essential nutrients. A dog food label that accurately lists all the necessary nutrients, accompanied by the proper proportions of each, can help guide owners in their decision.
Ultimately, it is important to not only acknowledge the potential connection between how dog owners eat and how they feed their pets but to also prioritize the health and well-being of the pet when considering their dietary needs. Seeking expert advice and conducting necessary research can provide the peace of mind that an owner needs when it comes to feeding their furry friend.
The little alleyway was just a short walk from the dorm, but it was a world away. Amid the garbage containers and the dumpsters, I spotted them – two tiny kittens, barely more than newborns, fleas and filth clinging to their fur. With a heart full of tenderness, my roommates and I scooped them up and took them back to our little student apartment. It was an adventure, bottle-feeding the kittens milk and bathing them in a makeshift bowl of soapy water to drown the fleas.
As days turned into weeks, the kittens grew stronger and more playful, taking over our lives the way only little furballs can. Olive was the more introverted of the pair, often skittish and broody. Onion, on the other hand, was a social butterfly, quick to snuggle up for a nap.
As the kittens transitioned to solid food, something curious happened. Olive, despite her relative lack of appetite, grew lanky and lean, while Onion chowed down on anything in sight, becoming more rounded and plump as time passed. It's like their physical appearance was a manifestation of their distinct personalities, morphing to reflect their unique traits.
Eventually, college ended, and my roommates and I went our separate ways, each taking one of the kittens along. Whenever we met up, though, we made sure to bring the cats together and indulge in elaborate stories about their little personalities. Olive, the brooding and judgemental one, barely tolerating anyone who crossed her path, while Onion sauntered around with a carefree attitude, constantly sniffing for the next morsel of food. It gave us a small, but meaningful connection that lasted simply because we refused to let the memory of the kittens fade away.
The story describes how the kittens’ distinct personalities reflected their physical traits as they grew. Olive became lanky and lean, while Onion grew more rounded and plump. While it is true that the nutritional needs of kittens can affect their growth and development, the story fails to mention other factors that can contribute to a kitten's weight and shape, such as genetics and body structure. Some kittens may be naturally lean and others naturally plump, regardless of their diet. Therefore, it might be inaccurate to conclude that a
One inconsistency I noticed is the sudden shift from talking about Onion's weight to discussing the broader cultural implications of how pet owners feed their animals. While the discussion is interesting, it seems to come out of nowhere and doesn't feel fully connected to the story of the two cats. It might be more effective to introduce the cultural discussion earlier or to find a more seamless transition.
There are also some uncertain connections between the cats and the broader cultural discussion. For instance, the story talks about how certain cultural norms influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. While this is an interesting idea, it isn't fully explored and the connection to Olive and Onion feels a bit tenuous.
Finally, I think it would be helpful to have a clearer thesis statement or takeaway from the story. While it offers interesting insights about how people treat their pets, it isn't entirely clear what the point of the overall discussion is. Providing a clearer message or takeaway would help tie the story together and make it more impactful.
One inconsistency in this story is the comparison of the narrator's "roasted vegetable" bowl to the dog's kibble. While the narrator is aware that her dog's kibble contains the necessary nutrients, it is unclear whether her vegetable bowl is nutritionally balanced. It is possible that while the narrator is monitoring her dog's diet for optimal health, she is not doing the same for herself.
Additionally, the story suggests that cultural norms and personal preferences may influence how pet owners feed their animals. However, the story does not explore the possible negative consequences of these influences. For example, feeding a pet a diet based on a fad or personal preference could lead to nutritional imbalances and health issues.
Finally, the story touches on the idea that pets are often viewed as extensions of their owners, but does not explore the possible psychological impact this may have on the pet. Pets have their own unique nutritional needs, and feeding them based solely on an owner's beliefs or preferences could ultimately harm the pet's health and well-being.
But as I lay in bed that night, feeling the emptiness in my stomach and the guilt about not giving Scout enough food, I realized that I needed to shift my own thinking about food and bodies. I couldn't keep projecting my insecurities onto my pet, who relied on me for nourishment and care. I needed to embrace a more compassionate approach to both my own body and my pet's body, one that prioritized health and well-being over societal beauty standards. The next day, I decided to consult with a veterinarian and a nutritionist to develop a sustainable and healthy plan for both Scout and myself. It wouldn't be easy, but I knew that it was the right thing to do for both of us.
I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my own weight.
I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard.
But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities?
It wasn't until we went on our runs together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied.
It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
In the end, Scout and I learned to listen to our bodies and nourish them the way they deserved. We were no longer hungry together, but rather satisfied and content with our bodies and our relationship with food.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
Overall, the story is well-written and conveys its message effectively. However, there are a few critiques and inconsistencies that can be pointed out:
1. In the beginning of the story, the protagonist mentions that she felt acutely aware of the days she skipped after-work workouts. Later in the story, she realizes the absurdity of trying to maintain her own weight while keeping her dog Scout fit. This seems inconsistent, as it is implied that the protagonist was already aware of this absurdity at the beginning.
2. While the story highlights important issues with diet culture and fatphobia, it does not address the impact of these issues on marginalized communities. Fatphobia disproportionately affects people of certain ethnic and racial backgrounds, and this is not acknowledged in the story.
3. Towards the end of the story, the protagonist admits to extending fat-phobia onto her friend Julie's cat Onion. However, it is not clear what steps the protagonist took to rectify this or apologize to Julie and Onion.
4. The story implies that feeding pets intuitively is a viable option without acknowledging that some pets may have certain health conditions or dietary restrictions that need to be taken into account. While intuitive eating can work for some pets, it is not a one-size-fits-all solution.
5. While the story overall has a positive message of self-acceptance and compassion, it is important to note that body positivity should not be used as an excuse for unhealthy behaviors or ignoring medical conditions that require attention.
Overall, the story provides valuable insights into diet culture and fatphobia, but it could benefit from addressing some of these critiques and inconsistencies.
Yes, the first paragraph sets the stage for the rest of the story by introducing the idea of a kibble aisle and how pet food claims to help with weight control and nutrition more convincingly than human food. It also highlights the narrator's struggle with body image and how it affects their perception of their pet's weight. So, it's a strong start that captures the reader's attention.
Yes, the paragraphs flow from one to another with a clear transition and connection between them. The story begins with the idea of a "kibble aisle" for human food shopping, which leads into the narrator's own struggles with body image and feeding their pets. From there, the story delves into the experiences of feeding pets and how cultural norms can impact both human and pet diets. The story then shifts to the narrator's personal journey towards self-acceptance and the realization that intuitive eating works for both humans and pets. Finally, the narrator reflects on the damaging ideas about fatness and the harm they can cause. Overall, the paragraphs are connected by a central theme and a clear narrative thread.
Sure! Here's the updated draft:
Food shopping for specific, human diet goals would be easier if we had a version of the kibble aisle. Bags of pet food declare "weight-control" and "complete nutrition" with an authority that has been overthrown elsewhere in the supermarket. Sure bags of chips and pre-cut veggies make similar claims, but I don't believe them like I believe the bag of food I buy for my pet will help them slim down as per the vets orders.
The way I feel about my body has shifted as my body itself has shifted slowly from the privileged toned high school version to a more Rubenesque feminine one. I have curves in places that I'm proud of and pooches I wish I could cut off. But my body itself is a signifier of the undulating beliefs about how I should feed myself and, by extension, how I should feed the pets I've taken into my charge.
In college, I found two stray kittens in an alleyway. My roommates and I bottle-fed them milk and drowned their fleas in dishsoap bathwater. Olive and Onion were sisters not twins. Olive was skittish and broody. Onion was social and snuggly. As they began eating solid food, Olive grew lanky and Onion more rounded. Like the college students around them, the cats settled into the shapes the slight differences in their genes had encoded. Because they could be seen in comparison, Onion's weight gain seemed unnatural.
For years we joked about Onion's weight, chastised her for meowing for constant feedings, and eventually became earnestly worried about whether or not she was healthy. Jessica, Onion's permanent owner, tried vet-proposed diets and specialty "weight-control" food. While we were talking, fretting, and trying to thin Onion's body, we were also working through ideas about our own bodies. Certain cultural norms may influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. For Jessica, who embraced intuitive eating over the years of Onion's life, feeding Onion when the cat was hungry aligned with her commitment to feeding herself when she felt hungry. Onion, it seemed, deserved the same kindness Jessica was cultivating for herself.
Years after college, in my kitchen late after attending the wedding of my childhood friend, my dog Scout whined at me. My party dress had been tight around my softening body all evening and I felt acutely aware of the days I skipped after work workouts. Scout hadn't been fed and cried for her evening portion of kibble. I gave her a measly half a scoop and poured some diet cereal for myself. We finished our bowls around the same time and both went to bed hungry.
I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my own weight. I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard. But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities? It wasn't until we went on our runs together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied. It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
I admire Jessica's early adoption of intuitive eating and regret the fat-phobia I extended onto an innocent Onion. How could this cat know, how can any of us know, what shapes our bodies are meant to take, the roundedness or sharpness hidden in our genes, the weight at which we feel genuinely healthy. When I was restricting my eating I thought I was helping my future self maintain the body that had helped me avoid negative attention. I thought I was restricting for "bad" foods. But I think, in the same way that the different shapes of kibble and cereal are made from the same stuff, that the health concerns I had for myself and the pets in my life were a mask for the damaging (if culturally pervasive) ideas about fatness. Being thin, as a person or as a pet, has no moral value and my fear of my own fatness has hurt the furry friends as well as myself.
Sure, here's the revised draft:
Food shopping for specific human diet goals would be easier if we had a version of the kibble aisle. Bags of pet food declare "weight-control" and "complete nutrition" with an authority that has been overthrown elsewhere in the supermarket. Sure, bags of chips and pre-cut veggies make similar claims, but I don't believe them like I believe the bag of food I buy for my pet will help them slim down as per the vet's orders.
The way I feel about my body has shifted as my body itself has shifted slowly from the privileged toned high school version to a more Rubenesque feminine one. I have curves in places that I'm proud of and pooches I wish I could cut off. But my body itself is a signifier of the undulating beliefs about how I should feed myself and, by extension, how I should feed the pets I've taken into my charge.
In college, I found two stray kittens in an alleyway. My roommates and I bottle-fed them milk and drowned their fleas in dishsoap bathwater. Rosie and Remy were sisters not twins. Rosie was skittish and broody. Remy was social and snuggly. As they began eating solid food, Rosie grew lanky and Remy more rounded. Like the college students around them, the cats settled into the shapes the slight differences in their genes had encoded. Because they could be seen in comparison, Remy's weight gain seemed unnatural.
For years we joked about Remy's weight, chastised her for meowing for constant feedings, and eventually became earnestly worried about whether or not she was healthy. Julie, Remy's permanent owner, tried vet-proposed diets and specialty "weight-control" food. While we were talking, fretting, and trying to thin Remy's body, we were also working through ideas about our own bodies. Certain cultural norms may influence both how pet owners eat and how they feed their pets. For Julie, who embraced intuitive eating over the years of Remy's life, feeding Remy when the cat was hungry aligned with her commitment to feeding herself when she felt hungry. Remy, it seemed, deserved the same kindness Julie was cultivating for herself.
Years after college, in my kitchen late after attending the wedding of my childhood friend, my dog Scout whined at me. My party dress had been tight around my softening body all evening and I felt acutely aware of the days I skipped after-work workouts. Scout hadn't been fed and cried for her evening portion of kibble. I gave her a measly half a scoop and poured some diet cereal for myself. We finished our bowls around the same time and both went to bed hungry.
I couldn't help but notice the similarities between the roasted vegetables in my bowl and the kibble in Scout's dish. They were both small, dry, and oddly crunchy. The thought of it made me realize the absurdity of my attempts to keep Scout fit while I struggled to maintain my weight. I knew that society constantly pushed the ideal of thinness as a measure of beauty and success, and I had fallen prey to it. It was easy to justify my strict diets and rigorous exercise routines as a way to keep myself healthy, but in reality, I was trying to conform to an impossible body standard. But what about Scout? Is it fair to subject her to the same standards and expectations? As I watched her beg for food from the counter, I couldn't help but wonder if her whining was a result of conditioning or if she was genuinely hungry. Was I depriving her of the pleasure of eating just because of my own insecurities? It wasn't until we went on our runs together that I realized the absurdity of it all. We both panted and struggled through our miles, neither of us enjoying the exercise. And when it came time to eat, we were both hungry and unsatisfied. It took me a while to realize that feeding Scout intuitively and allowing her to eat when she was hungry was a way of showing her kindness and compassion. I started to apply the same philosophy to my own eating habits and slowly began embracing my curves and imperfections.
As I continued my journey towards self-acceptance, I realized that the same compassion I was showing towards Scout could be extended towards other areas of my life as well. I started to listen to my body's hunger cues and gave it the nourishment it needed, free from the constraints of diet culture. I allowed myself to indulge in foods I loved without feeling guilty, and in turn, felt a sense of liberation I had never experienced before. As for Scout, her coat was glossy and her energy levels were high, a testament to the fact that intuitive eating worked just as well for pets as it did for humans. Step by step, I was learning to love and accept myself for who I was, curves and all.
I admire Julie's early adoption of intuitive eating and regret the fat-phobia I extended onto an innocent Remy. How could this cat know, how can any of us know, what shapes our bodies are meant to take, the roundedness or sharpness hidden in our genes, the weight at which we feel genuinely healthy. When I was restricting my eating, I thought I was helping my future self maintain the body that had helped me avoid negative attention. I thought I was restricting for "bad" foods. But I think, in the same way that the different shapes of kibble and cereal are made from the same stuff, that the health concerns I had for myself and the pets in my life were a mask for the damaging (if culturally pervasive) ideas about fatness. Being thin, as a person or as a pet, has no moral value and my fear of my own fatness has hurt the furry friends as well as myself.