So a delivery guy comes into our store late in the day. Takes a look around and sees our impressive display of raw cat and dog food.
"Y'know," he tells me. "I just lost my dog, my best friend. He was a German shepherd, 17 years old."
"Seventeen?" I said. "Seventeen for a German shepherd?!" I stood there, my mouth agape.
"Yeah, buddy. seventeen, I finally had to put him to sleep. Lost control of his bowels, hind legs. It killed me."
"I can empathize with your grief," I said. "But seventeen? For a German shepherd?"
"Yeah, man, seventeen," which was like the sixth time we repeated that magic number.
"Well, all I can say is that he had a good run. Lived till a ripe old age." I said.
The delivery guy gulped and pulled me towards him, which to be quite frank, was too close for comfort, but I forgave his transgression. After all, his grief was real.
"Only fed him real meat and fish all his life. Wouldn't have thought of giving him anything else...like that dry cereal stuff they stick in bags. Wouldn't give him anything I wouldn't eat."
Naturally I'd like to add a little reference to my tale: Click on the following link of a 2003 study on the longevity of dogs; raw-fed ones lived on average 32 months longer than kibble eaters.
What more do I need to say? The delivery guy said it all.