Caleb put the first brats of the year on the grill on Memorial Day, and Hank's nose hit the screen door about four seconds later. He stood there for the full twenty minutes, nostrils working, tail going, making the low grumbly noise he makes when he's waiting for something he's sure is his.
It was not his. Very little that comes off our grill is.
Some of that is plain good sense, but most of it is history. On Thanksgiving in 2022, Hank ate the twine off a roast, soaked in drippings, and it cost us surgery, two nights at an emergency hospital and $3,912 we did not have sitting around. Since then, anything with string, sticks, bones or grease gets handled in our house like it's radioactive. Grilling season has more of all four than any other time of year.
The scraps we don't share
Corn cobs. These scare me the most. A cob is just the right size for a big dog to swallow mostly whole, and it doesn't break down. From the front desk: the week after Memorial Day and the week after the Fourth, the phones fill up with people whose dog "might have gotten a corn cob out of the trash." Ours go straight into a bag, then into the outdoor can, and the lid gets a bungee cord.
Skewers and toothpicks. A wooden skewer soaked in chicken marinade smells like dinner and has a point at each end. We switched to metal skewers last summer, and we count them going onto the grill and count them coming off. Toothpicks from appetizers go in a cup on the counter, never on a paper plate someone leaves on a lawn chair.
Fatty trimmings and drippings. Steak fat, chicken skin, the greasy edge of a burger. Our vet has warned us more than once that rich, fatty scraps can upset a dog's stomach badly and sometimes lead to something more serious. Trimmings go into a bag in the freezer until trash day, so they can't stink up the bin or tempt anyone.
Bones. Cooked rib bones and chicken bones can splinter. No exceptions, no "just this once."
Foil, paper towels and butcher paper. Anything that has touched raw meat smells like a meal to Hank, and a wad of greasy foil or a strip of butcher's string is exactly the kind of thing that doesn't come back out on its own. After 2022, I'm not taking chances with anything stringy or wadded. It all goes in the sealed bag with the cobs.
Anything seasoned. Marinades and rubs are full of onion and garlic, and a grilled brat is mostly salt and happiness. Hank doesn't need either.
The drip pan
This one I learned the hard way, but cheaply. Our grill has a little grease cup underneath, and a couple of summers ago I found Hank with his head under the grill, licking it clean. Nothing came of it but a very greasy chin, and we were lucky. Now, once the grill cools, the cup gets wiped out with a paper towel, the towel goes into a sealed bag, and the bag goes into the lidded can. The grill sits inside the fence, which makes that cup the most interesting object in the backyard if you're a dog.
Our grilling rules
- While the grill is hot, Hank is inside with a frozen Kong behind the screen door. Hot grills and wagging tails don't mix.
- Guests get a friendly briefing. Caleb's dad, Ron, is the usual suspect. He's a lifelong "a little bite won't hurt" man, and Hank knows exactly which lawn chair is his.
- Plates get cleared before anyone sits back down with a drink.
- The trash can lid stays bungeed shut all summer.
He isn't completely left out. When we grill chicken, Caleb sets aside one piece with nothing on it, and a few bites of the plain middle get cut into Hank's dinner, counted as part of his food for the day, since we're keeping him lean for that rebuilt knee. And on October 2, his gotcha day, he gets a plain, unseasoned burger patty. Once a year, and he seems to know the date better than we do.
If your dog ever does get into something off the grill, call your vet or an emergency clinic right away instead of waiting to see what happens. Those calls always go better early.
The brats were excellent. Hank was informed.
