Read on for the disgusting details
by Lyssa Myska Allen, founder of DailyHap.com who is only happy when she’s not handling raw chicken.
Raw chicken. Raw chicken is easily one of the grossest things I can think of—up there with cockroaches, maggots, and other people’s barf. I know it’s not that serious for others, but raw chicken is that bad for me.
I’m pretty awesome at cooking chicken without touching it. Slice the package, drop in the breast. Hell no I’m not cooking a whole chicken. A recent Sunday I was on my preparing-food-for-the-week kick and thought it would be a great idea to cook up two chicken breasts. After cooking, I threw the package away in the garbage, like I always do, and took off for some sun-and-sand time at the beach.
You all know my daaaaawg, Nali. She’s awesome. She doesn’t ever dig in the trash for food. She’s just not very food motivated.
When I returned, she was lying on my bed with the chicken package ripped to shreds around her. Styrofoam, that weird chicken-juice-soaking pad, plastic, all in pieces ALL OVER MY BED.
The entire room reeked of raw chicken.
My stomach turned. I wanted to throw up.
My dog was eating raw chicken in my bed.
I shooed Nali out of the house into the yard. So. Angry. Why. Would. She. Do. That. To. Me? She. Never. Does. This. Kind. Of. Thing. Oh my god this chicken smells so bad.
I dutifully removed the offending comforter, sheets, pillowcases, etc., dumping them in the outside trash can before immediately placing them in the washing machine. Nali looked on, afraid to come near me. I hadn’t said a word to her.
It was time to walk her, so I snapped on her harness and she cowered, whimpering. My mad, angry heart broke as I said, “Nali, I’m mad at you, I’m not going to hurt you,” and scratched her ears and hugged her to me as I kneeled next to her. We walked.
I was still mad. But as we walked and the breeze blew and there was silence around us, some leaves rustled, the sun is shining upon us, everybody is healthy, the anger and frustration and all-out-grossed-outness I was feeling dissipates. We’re okay.
It’s so easy to forgive the dog. She’s just being a dog.
She knows I’m mad. She didn’t mean to gross me out.
And I forgave her.
Which made me wonder: Why is it harder to forgive people? They’re just being people. They know we’re mad. They don’t mean to hurt us. It’s so simple to get outside—be it physically or out of the negative space—and forgive.
And so, that nasty raw chicken taught me a lesson in forgiveness.