Thursday, July 6, 2017

Dog. It's what's for dinner.

O, so it's dog tonight, huh?  Ok, but it can't be just any dog, right?  There has to be a favorite breed when one is going to be having a feast.

Is this what the mysterious east means when it speaks of chow chowing down?

No, it strikes ABS that if men are going to eat dog, men are not going to eat just any dog * but it must be a special breed for dinner.

After a brief search...  

You are probably wondering why the Saint Bernard? The Saint Bernard ** is noted as being resistant to disease (but not bone-joint problems), eating less than most other breeds of such size, rapid growth; 60 Kg in the first six months for a male. The breed rarely ever bites and is known as the gentle giant. These are the very qualities that are putting the Saint Bernard on the dinner table of the Chinese, Taiwanese, Malaysian, Korean and Philippino families. That’s right, you read correctly. They are raising Saint Bernards, along with other fast-growth breeds, to use as food and for fur products.

Are these people starving? No. Sample comments about the practice of eating dogs: “St. Bernard dogs are the male parent and crossed with a local dog to evolve a quick-fattening dog, the mature dog weighs 40-50 Kg, and its meat is fresh, tender, tasty and delicious.” Hold onto your stomach, this is another quote: “Fine meat. The meat-producing dogs of Saint Bernard cross, because of big and strong bodily form and loins, its meat is tender, tasty, delicious and nourishing after full-grown and slaughter, and has the effect such as nourishing Yin, tonifying the kidney, improving human’s health, nourishment and physiological regulation for human body.”

Multicultural news:

An Olympic disgrace 

The current spotlight on China's human rights record fails to illuminate its cruel and inhumane treatment of dogs and cats. 

An Olympic disgrace
On my first trip to China I met a dog who was a dead ringer for Lassie. He lived with a dozen other dogs at a remote training camp for Olympic skiers in Manchuria, where a friend and I were spending a few days as we explored the area’s backcountry skiing. In return for food and lodging we gave the Chinese athletes some clinics in American ski techniques. 
The dog quickly became my friend. He would twirl happily in my arms before I headed up the slopes each morning and would be waiting for me when I returned. Dropping to my knees, I’d play tag with him, and he’d wag his tail so hard that his entire body would shimmy. The Chinese skiers paid no attention to the dogs. 
On the day before we departed, at lunch, our translator stood and called the mess hall to silence. “To thank our American friends for showing us so much about skiing,” he announced, “our chef will prepare a special dish tonight.” He nodded to the head coach, who waved his hand toward the door. Two of the Chinese skiers, standing at the ready, opened it with a flourish, and the white-aproned chef stepped inside, holding aloft my friend, the collie, by his tail. He had been gutted from throat to groin.

Being presented with a platter bearing a three legged boxer with a gunshot wound would likely put the diners off the meal.

** Presumably, these Bichon Frise puppies would be served as hors' d'oeuvres at an elegant dinner party

Grab an ice cold, Tsintao, buddy. I'll be right back; I just gotta stick these puppies onto a skewer and pop them onto the Hibachi.

***  Don't you wish his surname was Creasote?

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