Feeding & Nutrition

I used to cut the green hats off strawberries and flick them straight into the compost, the way you do without thinking, until the dog noticed. He noticed the way he notices everything that leaves my hand, with the fixed belief that anything I discard is the best part and being wasted on the worms.

He was not wrong, it turned out. I looked it up after he knocked the bowl over reaching for one, and the tops, the leaves and the pale pith, are not the poison people assume. They are fibrous, a bit sour, and full of the same goodness as the fruit, just without the sugar the dog does not need. A dog begging for greens is a dog I will humour.

Now I keep a small dish on the counter through strawberry season, and the hulls go there instead of the bin. He gets one after his walk, a weird little treat that costs nothing and feels like a private joke between us. He crunches it, sneezes at the leaf, and looks pleased with himself, which is more than I can say for most of his snacks.

The vet raised an eyebrow only about quantity. A few tops, fine. A bowl of them, the dog would have the runs and I would have the cleaning, so I capped it at two or three and called that the rule. Moderation is the boring answer to every food question, and it holds here too.

What I liked was the waste. We throw away the edible parts of so much, the beetroot leaves, the carrot tops, the broccoli stalk, all binned by habit, and here was the dog happily eating the bit I had been taught to cut away. It made me look at the rest of the scrap bowl with new suspicion, and a few of those suspicions turned out to be safe and useful.

He is not a vegetable dog by nature. Given a choice he would take the sausage every time, and I am not about to pretend the strawberry top is a reward he would choose over food. But as a between-meals nibble, a thing to occupy a mouth that is always hunting for something, it does the job and costs me the price of noticing.

I would not do this with every plant in the garden. Some leaves are the poison people fear, and the dog's faith in my discards is not a safe guide. Strawberry tops, yes. Unknown greenery from a vase, no. The line between a free snack and a vet trip is drawn by knowing which side of it you are on, and I stay on the side the vet confirmed.

My neighbour saw him take one and looked horrified, certain I was poisoning the animal with garden waste, and I had to explain, which is a funny position, defending the dog's snack to a person who feeds theirs discs of something from a brightly coloured bag. The strawberry top is the more honest food of the two, and I said so, possibly smugly.

He now waits by the fruit bowl when I hull strawberries, a small green beggar with no shame, and I give him the tops one by one as I work, so the chore and the treat happen together and the dog learns patience at the counter, which is a skill he lacks everywhere else. The bowl gets cleaned, he gets fed, the compost gets less, and the kitchen smells of summer.

I tried the same logic on the carrot tops, which the internet swears are fine, and he turned up his nose, which tells you the dog has opinions and they are not mine. Strawberry, yes. Carrot, no. The line between a free snack and a rejected one is drawn by his face, and I have learned to read it. Not every scrap is a win, and he is honest about which.

The season is short, and I will miss the little green ritual when the fruit is gone, but the lesson stays, that the part I was taught to throw away was the part he wanted, and the waste was habit, not sense. Next year I will hull over the same dish, and the dog will be there, and the compost will get less again, and that is a small, sour, green thing I am glad to repeat.

The dog has no opinion on waste, only on what lands near his nose, and the strawberry top lands near his nose and so it is his, by his logic, and I have stopped arguing with that logic because it leads to less in the bin and more joy at the counter. A small, green, sour win, repeated every summer, and I will take it.

Next summer the dish will be on the counter again, the dog will be there again, and the compost will get less again, and that small green circle is one of the nicer habits the dog has talked me into without saying a word.