January 1st, I wake and check my phone, expecting a text from my brother-in-law, Scott, a police officer, Georgia Bulldog fan, and American bulldog owner.  Scott likes to lean against his shiny patrol car in his driveway, oiling a gun belt under the sun, and ask, “So what exactly is a Buckeye?”  His tone, I imagine, the same he uses to ask, “Where exactly is your license and registration?” He’ll listen as your defense, or lack thereof, reflects back on you from his mirror shades.

He’s poking me, knows I’m an Ohio State Buckeye fan, but his question is not without merit. Scott is that flavor of cop: unafraid to ask questions, holds informed opinions, willing to hear yours, waits patiently to be persuaded. His reasoned equanimity exposes me and leads me to indigestion. What exactly is a buckeye, he says.  Ok, I’ll play.  I couldn’t identify a buckeye tree if you planted one in my backyard, which, I’m pretty sure, is his point, but it’s not about tree identification, is it?  This may be hard to swallow, but I think it’s about nuts.

Dog lovers might want to know if a Buckeye tree were planted in their backyard.

The American Kennel Club lists tree nuts – almonds, cashews, hazelnuts, macadamia, pecan, pine nuts, pistachios, and walnuts – and their impact on dogs.  None are recommended, high in fat, choke hazards, but the truly toxic are pecans and macadamia.  Macadamia, the worst.  Never feed your dog macadamia nuts.  They lead to vomiting and depression.

Buckeyes did not make the list, no one’s idea of a snack.  Buckeyes harbor a glycoside, toxic to all mammals.  Most mammals have learned to avoid buckeyes (by dying and failing to reproduce, leaving behind a stronger gene pool, one programmed with more discretionary tastes), except squirrels.  But even squirrels know to moderate. Squirrels have been observed to forego their nut love, perhaps intuiting a future indigestion, ceasing consumption half a nut in.

My dog Gypsy will eat most anything.  She’s stubborn, part-Husky.  She chases tree frogs and baby birds and collects acorns from the backyard to crack apart on the living room rug.  The acorn’s high tannins likely keep her from swallowing.

Bulldogs have sensitive stomachs, some breeds allergic to chicken.  Scott’s bulldog watches from the shade as Gypsy sprints around the pool at Scott’s summer parties.  Once, Scott was flipping and basting baby back ribs on his shiny new grill and asking me about buckeyes, when a chicken wing and sides slipped off our niece’s paper plate.  Gypsy pounced.  Ten minutes later, Gyps vomited, the wing intact in a moat of spinach dip and cheese cubes.

Bulldogs and Huskies do better with beef or lamb.  One sheep farmer online markets lamb products to dogs as a novel protein, the variety good for digestion.  The idea being, if a dog eats the same protein repeatedly, its body could find it difficult to break down, mistakenly treating as a toxin, developing a food allergy.

On the eve of New Years Eve in Blue Ridge, we ate at a restaurant called Black Sheep.  Back at the cabin, my nieces watched Gypsy.  Cheryl gave strict instructions.  “Do not let her out of your sight.  She will eat the pillows off the couch if you let her.”  Overkill, I thought, quietly moving the woven hemp drink coasters from the coffee table, ones I’d extracted from her jaw earlier in the day.

Steve ordered lamb.  Steve is a gourmand, the kind of guy who smokes his turkey as prelude to deep-frying. Lamb intrigues him, a novel protein. Lamb are sheep less than a year old.   I’d cleaned my bowl of creamy Cajun-style pasta and andouille sausage, after four cornbread biscuits (they were small) from the bread basket, and a starter of ahi tuna tacos, when Steve placed a blackened lamb shank in my bowl.  I tend to limit baby consumption to carrots and spinach, besides, I was stuffed.  At the site of charred lamb, I felt like Piper Perabo’s character, Summer Higgins on Yellowstone, a vegan held captive at the Dutton family dinner table.  Gator, their big-bellied ranch chef, presents the evening’s protein menu on three heaping platters: cow, hen, or dove.  I’m no vegan, but unlike Summer, I bit my tongue.  Summer, with the passion of a one-dimensional character, loosed her opinions upon the Duttons, subsequently trading bloody licks with an insulted Beth on the lawn.  The two thumped each other silly as the rest of the family passed platters, slapping plates with mashed potatoes infused with bacon grease.

I took up my knife.  It was less tender than expected, some work to carve and chew.  Lamb can be older than one year and still marketed as lamb in some states if the lamb retain their baby teeth.

I recently found a website for a farm that raises grass-fed sheep, one page full of arty, gourmet pictures and robust recipes for lamb parts.  It wasn’t always easy to distinguish the products meant for humans from those for dogs.

Lamb stew and lamb neck?  Dog.  Lamb pancreas?  Human.  Thymus glands?  Human.  Lamb trachea?  Dog.  On the human menu, you might consider Lamb Melt and Fries, respectively, lamb spleen and testicles.

On the recipe for Lamb Fries, “To help calm the flavor a bit, Chef recommends soaking in milk or brining them for a day or two before cooking.  After brining, the testicles can be smoked, and make a good addition to a cheese-plate or charcuterie platter.”