Beans & Rice: A Complete Protein

“Five pounds a day. Five,” Empire barked.

A twig snapped beneath Xavier’s paw, the shock halted him in place—his still body and brindle stripes like camouflage against the wooden backdrop. “Five pounds of ungodly meat is what you used to ingest?”

Empire, the majestic Great Dane, nodded. The others muttered their disbelief.

Xavier continued his strut, catching up with the tail-wagging group.

“What have you replaced that trash with?” Andre asked, the rust-colored circles above his eyes knitting together.

“Beans and rice, of course,” Empire barked. “A complete protein!”

The Rottweiler puffed up his chest, shrubs and trees passing him in bowed silence. “A complete protein indeed. My human adds peanut butter to my veggie-chow.”

An impressed awe rippled through the pack.

Don Hector, a beige Chihuahua, doubled his pace, nearly taking lead. “My human gives me black bean and mint patties—freshens my breath.”

A soft gasp. “That’s high tier excellence right there,” Butters, a smooth Xoloitzcuintli chuffed. “I’ve been vegan nearly four weeks now, and have already requested my name be changed to Coco, as in, Coconut Oil—an absolute staple item.”

Anthony leapt, an excitement brightening his brown eyes, and practically doubling his short, gray Frenchie frame. “Remarkable,” he boofed. “Took my humans a year before they fine-tuned my title. Tony was too—gluttonous. I felt like a full trans-fat, cholesterol-ridden idiot carrying that name. Anthony is suave.”

Howls and low grunts followed in agreement, pulling Anthony’s chin to the sun.

“Yo! Exactly,” Don Hector snorted. “Nothing but lard.”

Empire paused, the pack followed suit. He dropped his gaze to the small dog. “We never say ‘yo’. Yo is—subpar. Say what you mean; mean what you say. Choose a better word.”

The dogs waited, their panting tangling with the afternoon summer breeze.

Don Hector fidgeted, almost more than Axel, a Husky near the back of the pack, his eyes shifting from the flowers to movement in the grass, to a squirrel in a tree.

“Em…” Don Hector cleared his throat. “I concur.”

Tails fiercely swayed, smacking against tree stumps and low branches while heads bobbed with grinning muzzles.

“Excellent. Concur, indeed,” Empire ruffed, turning to lead again, his black coat shining with pride.

“Can you believe they had me selling tacos and overstuffed beef and bean burritos on TV for the world to see?” Don Hector huffed.

“YOOOOOWL!” went Axel, stomping his front paws as he screamed to the sky.

Butters grazed Axel’s side. “There, there. First few days are the hardest. These cravings will pass,” she woofed. But he twitched just the same.

“That’s right—the cravings of a killer will soon fade!” Empire pronounced, regal and righteous. “Let’s hear it everyone—‘Down with blood. Up with roots. Plants are the way—where no one shoots!’”

They chanted; their howls, barks and grunts were the finest of symphonies—though a chipmunk bolted, and an owl glared.

Their cheer quieted; their paws crunching leaves and gravel in a steady rhythm.

Xavier sniffed the air, the scent of pine had morphed into something of smoked barbecue—a forbidden word. “Empire, are you sure you know where you’re going?”

Empire jolted to a stop. “You dare question me, pit bull?”

Xavier grunted. “I am not one of those ruffians. I am an American Staffordshire Terrier—a respectable one at that.”

The two dogs watched each other, stances proud, brows raised. Axel interrupted their standoff with a butchered yowl that sounded like I love you once he too inhaled the savory air.

“I remember exactly where I’m going.” Empire postured, head held high. “The Organic Fruit Festival is just beyond the big rock.”

“Which one? We’ve passed several,” Andre barked, challenging the regal Dane next.

“I say we ask for directions. I spotted an eagle not far back,” Anthony gruffed.

“I am not going to take a word from a killer with wings,” Empire scoffed, upturning his nose. “The festival is just beyond the lemongrass field—my nose would never forget such a fresh scent.”

Don Hector hopped onto a twisted log. “We vote: those in favor of the lemongrass trail?”

The multi-sized dogs howled gracefully in unison, except Axel—

“YOOOOOWL!”

The pack paused to look at the blue-eyed stud, digging like he’d find a cheeseburger just beneath the soil.

“Perhaps he should adjust his B-12 levels,” Butters hushed.

“Or a realignment of chakras,” Anthony mumbled.

The others gave a sure nod. Then a fart squeaked from somewhere in the pack, giving the final say.

But they carried on, following the Dane through the fragrant field.

The green stalks of dew-speckled leaves rustled past the pack, the vegetation parting like a green sea.

“My master soaks cashews, then blends them with lemongrass—she uses it to replace cream cheese,” Andre woofed.

Butters’s nose lifted. “My master used cashews to replace her entire relationship.”

The pack gave appropriate oohs and awes.

“Empowerment,” Empire barked. “Precisely what this movement provides.”

And if dogs could snap, bursts of approval would have pinged the air—low grunts were given instead, with a few back-paw kicks flinging dirt.

Their journey continued, each dog prancing like a mustang. But there it was again—the wind whispered bacon and roasted turkey.

The dogs inconspicuously licked their jowls. Drool dripped, but it was shrugged off as just another dew drop.

Axel was nearly a full-blown basket case—rolling, and kicking in a fit of chained desire in the weeds.

“Axel—my word!” Andre woofed. “Remove yourself from that filthy ground at once.”

“Yes—the grace of a vegan is birthed in dirt, but one never rolls in it,” Empire barked, his chops clamped tight with disapproval.

Don Hector and Anthony helped the loopy Husky to his feet. Their paws resumed with grace and poise as a hilltop came into view.

The dogs climbed, then stood atop the small mound, and what they saw nearly floored them.

A large brick building jutted out of the ground like a mountain—a mountain with a massive red sign that flashed Ray’s Local Meat Shop.

“I told you, you didn’t know where we were going!” Xavier barked.

“It’s called the scenic route—look it up,” Empire grumbled. “Follow.”

Long groans came from the pack, but each dog ran down the hill like they were just called for a meat-pie dinner.

They skidded to a stop once in the small parking lot. Each sniffed the pavement, then the air like it could turn back time. Then they stopped—catching one another’s stare and scrambling back to their order, back to pretending… though the saliva that dangled from their mouths betrayed their perfect composure.

“We’ll ask for directions here,” Empire ruffed. “Maybe whoever lives in this dump will be open to joining our movement.”

The dogs nodded; drool dribbled.

The Dane sat before the double doors, spine as straight as an arrow, chest raised. “Ruff! R-R-Ruff!”

No response. He tried again, placing his large paw on the glass.

“Ruff. Ruff. Ruff.”

Nothing.

“I believe this establishment is closed,” Anthony grumbled. “See here—the sign is not lit.”

Don Hector chased his tail with frustration.

“Let’s try around back,” Butters barked, her dark, hairless skin catching the sun’s rays, and making her pink and gold collar sparkle.

The pack turned toward the corner of the building, but only to realize that Axel was gone.

CRASH—the sound of glass shattering.

THUD—fast movement.

The pack exchanged a look—then ran.

They neared the back entrance; a window above a stack of crates was broken.

“Axel!” they howled. “Axel—stop! Remember who you are!”

METAL CLATTERED—chomp-chomp-chomp.

“Watermelon for hydration! Tofu for protein!” Empire chanted, as he awkwardly wedged his bulky body through the window, landing without grace.

“Nutritional yeast, Axel! NUTRITIONAL YEAST!” Anthony howled.

The pack climbed the crates, each leaping through the hole—but once inside, the umami-flavored room stopped time.

Sausages hung from the ceiling like holy Christmas lights. Barrels of jerky were filled to the brim. Fat cuts of steak glistened behind glass. And everywhere they looked, a long slab of meat swayed with mouthwatering temptation.

Axel darted across the large room, face greasy, grin wide with a long rope of bratwursts dragging behind him.

Don Hector glanced up at Empire. “You gonna stop him?”

Empire peered at the tiny dog from the corner of his eye. “I’m not his mother.”

Stares held among the pack. Their paws shifted, hesitant with truth they wished wasn’t theirs. Thoughts ticked…

TICK. TICK. TICK.

They scattered.

Paws scurried—slipping across tile.

Flashes of fur in every direction.

Growls and snarls cut through the air like rock music.

Jerky was snatched. Salami assaulted. Anthony launched himself in a vat of bacon grease. Butters rolled in a pile of aged cheese, packages torn and shredded.

Empire was on his third steak, Andre and Xavier played tug-of-war with a smoked strip of raw hide, and Don Hector bit the head off a preserved duck with glee.

The room sang with ravenous gobbles, crunchy bites and sloppy licks.

The setting sun bled through the windows, casting a heavenly glow upon the stuffed canines dead on the floor.

Each lay there, bellies full, eyes in a daze, and tails at peace.

“Brooo—we should’ve hit up this place weeks ago. All them veggies can get bent,” Anthony ruffed, jowls coated in crumbs.

“Say less. I’ma move me and my mama up in here,” Don Hector growled, low and lazy from the sacks of powdered gravy he lay upon.

“Fat chance,” Andre barked. “Me and my bitches already signed the lease.”

Xavier rolled, barely picking himself up from the scraps of meat that surrounded him. “I ain’t never touching a bean again. Them humans can’t hold us down.” He sat and pawed at his neck, slipping free from his collar. He stood proudly, belly bulging. “I’ma pit bull—what owner?”

The pack hooted and howled, each sneezing in agreement.

Axel rounded the corner, covered head to paw in feathers. “Fresh never frozen down in the basement,” he ruffed with a wolfish grin. The pack rolled in amusement; Axel shook, sending feathers flying.

“But what should we tell our owners?” Butters woofed, as she licked her paws clean.

“To move out!” Don Hector cackled, and the pack barked and spat their humor.

“Don’t worry about that,” Empire barked with cool confidence. He sat like a king in front of the wall of meat, the marbled fat and dark muscles dangling behind him. “Them humans ain’t perfect. They mess up all the time. In fact—they have a special day for it. Called New Year’s, and I know their magic word for forgiveness.”

Ears perked, eager to hear it.

“A resolution. They throw that word around like it can erase murder.” He shrugged. “And look around—looks like they can.”

They barked and wheezed, pawing at their faces with amusement.

“Listen to this,” he continued, “My owner would sneak honey and fish—something about how it doesn’t count. And her boyfriend always says he’s gonna slim down by ten pounds—then he adds some!” He barked a laugh. “But—they each say the magic word, and just like that, they’re on track again, ready to break the rules next week.”

Andre stood. “When is this magic day?”

“Dunno. We need sumptin’ called a calendar. It knows all,” Empire ruffed.

Butters thought. “My human rants about her calendar all the time. Something about it being full.” The smooth dog stood. “Wanna go over to my place? My human’s at yoga then hits up Trader Joe’s for hours.”

They agreed, then the unruly pack stretched and yawned, happy grins all around. They wedged their overdone bodies through the window again, following the path back home.

“For real this time—did you have any idea where the hell you were going?” Xavier ruffed to Empire.

Empire grinned. “Nope. When it comes to fruit—I forget.”