What Eating Ollie Really Tastes Like, According to a Dog

What Eating Ollie Really Tastes Like, According to a Dog


As a 63-year-old Dachshund (that’s 9 in human years), I’ve seen my share of Boxes on the Doorstep. My humans LOVE them almost as much as they love me. And because I love my humans, I take it upon myself to bark as loud as I can and run back and forth from the window to the door 108 times to let them know whenever one is delivered.

Then a few weeks ago, my Humans finally rewarded me for my dedication: the Box on the Doorstep was for ME! This one was colorful and had some writing on the outside that made my Lady Human laugh. She brought it inside and began to unload colorful trays of what appeared to be food she would eat. She oohed and ahhed and put all but one tray in the Fridge—right next to her La Croix, Chardonnay, Greek yogurt, and beloved corn salsa.

“Are you ready for some Ollie?” my Lady Human asked before opening the tray on the counter and releasing the most amazing aroma my disproportionately large nose has ever sniffed. It smelled like a mixture of Thanksgiving dinner and summer walks on fresh cut grass and the memory of my mother’s neck…but better! My ancestral DNA smelled fresh meat and cod liver oil and the colorful orbs my Humans call fruits and veggies. I even got a whiff of blueberry! My jowls started salivating uncontrollably.

But then—brace yourself for this—my Lady Human put some in my dish. On purpose.

I’ll be honest, one of my first thoughts was that I must be dying because I never get food from the Fridge. My dry kibble comes from the pantry, bottom shelf. Every day I’m tortured by the amazing smells coming from the food my Humans give each other. Clearly, this was my last meal.

So I gobbled it down, savoring every delicious burst of flavor—I recognized the orange cubes that taste like sunsets, little green balls that taste like summer and tasty brown crumbles I’ve only known when the Kid Humans spill. I immediately felt a wonderful lightness and energy I hadn’t known since I was a puppy. I jumped around and played fetch-the-squeak-toy with my Humans before snuggling and licking each of them goodbye. That night I drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep and dreamt of dancing with my bowl of Fridge Food throughout the milky way.

But I woke up the next morning! I felt…phenomenal! I felt like I was 23 again! I followed my Lady Human into the kitchen and—get this—she gave me more Ollie. And then she did it again at night! And again the next day and night and the next and the next! Now every morning and evening, we go into the kitchen together and I run 108 times between the Fridge and my bowl until the Ollie comes out of the fridge and the the lid comes off and that Thanksgiving-fresh-cut-grass-mother’s-neck smell hits me in the nose again!

There’s something else, though: I feel so different after eating. My food used to hit me like a sandbag, trudging down my throat, pulling my stomach to the ground and eventually exiting onto the back lawn in heavy bricks that took Zen-level concentration and force to deliver. My Ollie food is the digestive equivalent of a car ride through the countryside, head hanging out the window, ears flapping light as air, the journey smooth as silk, with an easy exit at the end.

But it’s not just the poop, people. My joints feel less stiff! My back feels better! I’ve even lost a half a pound already! I passed by a mirror the other day and thought I saw my little sister Becky—the skinny little bitch with the shiny hair!

Every time a Human friend is over, my Humans get Ollie out of the fridge and let the other humans sniff it. “Can you believe how good that smells?” they say to each other. “It smells like a casserole. I would eat Ollie!” But they give it to me! Then they talk about how good I look, how easy I move, how thin I’m getting and how I don’t need seventeen naps per day anymore.

I’m not sure what I did to deserve this new leash on life. I thought this kind of ridiculous good fortune was only available to the dogs owned by the Real Housewives. Perhaps it was my vigilant barking about deliveries that caused this. Or perhaps I actually did die and went straight to Dog Heaven where they serve Ollie twice a day.

Tiffany Beveridge

Tiffany Beveridge

Writer, author, teacher, traveler, amateur kitchen wizard, wife, and mom to two sons, one imaginary daughter, and one neurotic but lovable Dachshund.

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