Yesterday was one of those quietly productive days that felt dull on the surface but satisfying underneath. I spent hours making homemade dog food for my Rottweilers. It’s a routine I’ve settled into—soaking dried lentils, beans, and peas overnight, then cooking them with ground hamburger and a mix of dog-safe veggies like pumpkin. Once it cools, I portion it into gallon-sized ziplock bags and freeze them. I defrost one bag at a time and mix a cup into their kibble. It’s not glamorous work, and I even got a blister from chopping veggies, but it’s worth it to see them thrive.
I know some people raise eyebrows at legumes in dog food, but I’ve done my homework. This mix doesn’t replace animal protein—it supplements it. My dogs still get their regular kibble, and this blend adds fiber, nutrients, and variety. They get half a cup of it twice a day, and my vet gave it a thumbs-up. I’m not trying to reinvent canine nutrition—I’m just trying to give my dogs something wholesome and homemade. It’s a labor of love, even if it’s not the most exciting way to spend a Saturday.
There’s something meditative about the process. The soaking, the chopping, the simmering—it’s repetitive, but grounding. I listen to podcasts while I cook, and the kitchen fills with the earthy smell of lentils and beef. My dogs hover nearby, noses twitching, tails wagging. They know what’s coming. It’s not just food—it’s a ritual. And in a world that moves too fast, I’ve come to appreciate these slow, intentional acts. They remind me that care doesn’t have to be flashy. It just has to be consistent.
I used to buy expensive dog food toppers, but they never felt quite right. Too processed, too mysterious. Making it myself gives me control. I know every ingredient, every step. And I get to tailor it to my dogs’ needs. One of them has a sensitive stomach, and this mix has helped immensely. The other just loves the taste. It’s become part of our rhythm—twice a day, scoop and stir, tail wags and happy crunching. It’s not dull when you see the joy it brings.
Of course, there are downsides. The blister from chopping pumpkin was no joke. And my freezer is now half full of ziplock bags labeled “dog stew.” But I wouldn’t trade it. It’s a small way to show love, and it makes me feel like I’m doing something good. Not just for them, but for me. In a world full of noise, this quiet care feels like a rebellion. A reminder that love is often found in the mundane.
So yes, I spent a dull day making dog food. But it was a good kind of dull—the kind that leaves you tired, satisfied, and surrounded by happy dogs. And honestly, that’s more than enough.
