“Give a Dog a Bone” by Jeffrey Steingarten first appeared in the December 1998 issue of Vogue. For more highlights from Vogue’s archives, sign up for their Nostalgia newsletter.

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“A fat bitch,” I declared, licking the juices of a wood-grilled lamb sausage from my fingers, “is never an easy whelper.” I was reading aloud from the breeding section of The Golden Retriever: 47 Exciting Full-Color Photos. Sky King listened intently but stayed silent—not just because he hadn’t yet learned to talk. I’ve noticed that young males of any species tend to lose interest fast when the topic turns to whelping and obesity.

Still, Sky’s gaze spoke volumes—just as it had earlier that evening when I poured a cup of high-end dry kibble into his bowl before turning to my own dinner: six plump sausages sizzling over oak and mesquite coals on the grill outside. “I know you mean well,” his eyes seemed to say, “but are you really sure I should be eating these dried-out pellets while you enjoy the primal pleasure of searing meat? Who’s the carnivore here?”

I glanced back as if to argue, Cats are carnivores—dogs aren’t. But I got his point. Dogs didn’t evolve eating kibble, and they don’t prefer it now. Sky loves tomatoes, raw steak, grilled steak, pitted cherries, peaches, pizza, overcooked lamb sausages, running shoes, and Fudgsicles. He’s indifferent to salty corn chips and has no use for Good & Plenty. He also enjoys eating in bed.

After dinner, Sky and I watched the sunset over San Diego, where he lives and where I often visit. Back inside, we hatched a plan to answer the big question: What should a growing dog actually eat? We ordered a stack of books online and settled in with The Golden Retriever—the only reference on hand. Beyond its warning about obese females, the dietary advice was thin: kibble, moistened for puppies, dry for adults. The perks? Balanced nutrition, convenience, and smaller stools. This was the regimen we’d followed with Sky, named by my wife after the heroic rancher-pilot from 1940s radio and TV. (“Out of the clear blue of the Western sky comes Skyyyy Kiiiing!”) His name hasn’t cracked the top ten for dogs yet—currently led by Sam, Max, and Lady. Tasha?

I had to admit Sky had a point about kibble. I don’t eat food in pellet form, and even if a “perfect” human pellet existed, I doubt many of us would choose it. I avoid canned food (except for tuna, foie gras, and an exceptional blood sausage from Urt, France). I steer clear of processed meals, “chicken by-product meal,” or “chicken digest”—key ingredients in Eukanuba, the pricey puppy formula my wife and vet picked for Sky. I don’t chew rubber toys, either. Yet I don’t consider myself worlds apart from a large-breed pup. Why shouldn’t Sky eat—

(The excerpt ends here, but the piece continues exploring canine diets and the ethics of pet food.)Here’s a more natural and fluent version of your text while preserving its meaning:

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Do you know what I do? According to the Pet Food Institute, the first commercial dog food was made in 1860 by an American named Spratt. He originally went to England to sell lightning rods but ended up making dog biscuits instead. However, canned and dry dog food didn’t become a common household staple until after World War II, joining other time-saving inventions like pop-up toasters. Before that, most people cooked for their dogs regularly. And yet, was America ever a nation of sick and weak dogs?

Dogs thrive on routine. They love stability—change upsets their digestion. Some owners claim dogs have a weak sense of taste and don’t care about flavor, using these excuses to justify feeding the same boring dry food month after month. But if dogs really have a sense of smell a million times sharper than ours, as we’re always told, then they must know a thing or two about flavor.

Most debates about what humans, dogs, or even zoo pandas should eat eventually circle back to evolution: What did we eat in prehistoric times, when our genes were forming? What did we eat in the wild before civilization warped our instincts?

Sky and I come from very different family trees. I supposedly evolved from apes, while Sky’s earliest ancestor was a weasel-like creature called Miacis, which took 60 million years to evolve into jackals, wolves, and foxes. Just 12,000 years ago, a small gray wolf from India gave rise to all modern dogs—except for some African breeds that may have descended from jackals.

But if I’m an ape and Sky’s a weasel, why do we both love pizza? And why do we both go crazy for bones? Maybe evolution doesn’t matter at mealtime. Somehow, humans and dogs became fast friends almost instantly. There’s a 10,000-year-old grave in Israel where a human skeleton was found with its arm around a puppy’s skeleton. Ever since then, dogs have eaten human food—at least some of the time.

It shocked me that at eight months old, already 80% of his full 75-pound size, Sky had never been allowed to chew a real bone. He’d only been given rubber and nylon imitations, based on the misguided modern belief that even the toughest bones can splinter and cause internal damage—a perfect example of how pet care in America has become over-medicalized and detached from nature. No wonder Sky destroyed two of my wife’s expensive Manolo Blahnik shoes! Bones would be my first project.

The next morning, Sky and I went to the supermarket, only to find that California grocery stores aren’t exactly dog-friendly. Back home alone, Sky was heartbroken until I returned with ten pounds of marrow bones from the meat department—precut into two-inch chunks, dense and nearly indestructible, packed with rich, delicious marrow. I may be an ape and Sky a weasel, but 12,000 years of living alongside dogs taught me how to make, perfectly on the first try:

Sky King’s Roasted Marrow Bones
– 2 pounds frozen marrow bones, cut into 2-inch pieces
– 1 teaspoon salt

1. Preheat the oven to 400°F.
2. Rub a little salt into the ends of the bones. Place them in a wide, shallow bowl. Microwave on high for 10 minutes.
3. Transfer the bones to a baking dish, pouring any juices and fat over them. Roast until browned, about 20 minutes.
4. Let cool to rabbit body temperature (101°F—the same as Sky’s). Any hotter, and he might burn his mouth. Wait too long, and his excited barking could damage his chef’s hearing.

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This version keeps the original meaning while making the language more natural and conversational. Let me know if you’d like any further refinements!Sky might have descended from a weasel or a wolf, but golden retrievers aren’t an ancient breed. Sky is a gun dog, bred for hunting and sport. As we’d read the night before, goldens were developed in the mid-1800s by Lord Tweedmouth on his Scottish estate. He crossed a yellow wavy-coated retriever (once owned by a Brighton cobbler) with a Tweed water spaniel. (This story makes me wonder—what really sets a “purebred” golden apart from a mutt, besides the price?)

Sky has never encountered a real rabbit in San Diego—only rabbit-shaped treats. But if he ever does, I’m told by an expert at the Iams Company (makers of Eukanuba) that he’d find the little creature’s body temperature just right for a meal. While Sky happily gnawed on his first real bone, I planned another grocery run. But first, I called two top French chefs in New York for ideas on cooking for Sky.

Most French chefs become dog-food experts early in their careers—as teenage apprentices, their first cooking tasks often involve preparing meals for customers’ dogs. Even today, many high-end French restaurants welcome dogs. In contrast, Southern California is surprisingly unwelcoming. Not long ago, Sky was rudely kicked off the patio of a taco joint in Solana Beach. New York, despite a 1972 law banning dogs inside restaurants, is far more accommodating—many places offer outdoor seating with water bowls and special dog menus. After the Solana Beach incident, Sky agreed to stay home in San Diego if we spent some of the savings on new toys—or a live rabbit. We chose the toys.

Jean-Georges Vongerichten (of Jo Jo, Vong, and Jean Georges fame) grew up in Strasbourg. As a young apprentice at Auberge de l’Ill, he lived above the restaurant and worked grueling hours—except when he was allowed to cook for the dogs. Sundays were family days, and since many French families wouldn’t dream of dining without their pets, up to 20 dogs would show up. Some were regulars with known preferences; others required last-minute meals. The apprentices would prepare rice, green beans, and braised beef, veal, or rabbit—especially the bony front legs, rarely served to humans. Timing was crucial—the dogs’ meals had to be ready exactly when their owners’ main courses arrived. Later, the waiters would take the dogs for walks.

Daniel Boulud (of Café Boulud and Restaurant Daniel) grew up on a farm near Lyon, where the family’s mixed-breed shepherds ate from a giant communal bowl. Leftover stew from the midday meal became the base for the dogs’ dinner, enriched with bones, pasta, beans, potatoes, rice, milk, cheese rinds, and meat scraps. Daniel remembers the meat was always cooked—raw meat would’ve tempted the dogs to chase the chickens.

When I asked Daniel what to make for Sky’s first home-cooked meal, he didn’t hesitate: a hearty root vegetable soup with beef short ribs. Sky didn’t object, so I whipped up a big batch of French Country Soup for Dogs and Their Owners—using 8 whole beef short ribs.Short Rib and Vegetable Soup for Dogs (and Humans)

Ingredients:
– 6 to 7 lbs. beef short ribs
– Salt
– 2 lbs. carrots, peeled and left whole
– 4 tbsp. butter
– 1 lb. leeks, trimmed, washed, and roughly chopped
– 1 lb. onions, peeled and roughly chopped
– 2 quarts whole milk
– 1 lb. baking potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
– 2 lbs. celery root and turnips, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
– 1 lb. macaroni (any large shape)
– 1 lb. day-old bread, cooked rice, cooked beans, or a mix

Instructions:
1. Place the short ribs in a 6-quart pot, cover with cold water by about an inch, add a pinch of salt, and bring to a boil. Simmer partially covered for about 3 hours, until the meat is tender but still on the bone.
2. Add the carrots and cook for another 20 minutes until firm-tender. Add water as needed to keep everything submerged.
3. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a large 12-quart soup pot. Cook the leeks and onions over medium heat until soft.
4. Add the milk, a pinch of salt, potatoes, celery root, and turnips. Bring to a boil, then simmer partially covered for about 25 minutes until the vegetables are tender.
5. Remove half the vegetables, mash them roughly, and return them to the pot. Stir in the macaroni and cook for 10-15 minutes until tender.
6. Once the short ribs and carrots are done, add them to the soup pot along with their broth. Stir in the bread (or rice/beans) and simmer briefly. The soup will be very thick.
7. For a 70-lb. dog, serve about 3 cups (one of two daily meals), including one whole short rib (meat and bone). Let it cool to a safe temperature before serving. Store the rest in the fridge or freezer. Serves 8.

Sky’s Reaction:
For Sky, it was like tasting real food for the first time. Over the next few days, I made hearty soups with beans, carrots, fennel, and stewed chicken, along with macaroni bakes and beef pilaf. The only way to know if the food was right was to taste it—which made me realize I shouldn’t feed Sky anything I wouldn’t eat myself. After a while, I noticed my own meals were healthier when I cooked for him. In an ideal world, humans and dogs would eat the same food daily—just with less salt and spice for dogs, since they prefer milder flavors.

The Truth About Dog Food:
Most dog food companies claim only commercial products are “balanced and complete,” warning that homemade meals lead to deficiencies. But dogs, like humans, don’t need one rigid diet—their needs vary by breed and environment. Experts (including the National Research Council) agree dogs thrive on 25-30% protein (mostly animal-based), 25-40% fat, and the rest carbs—though some do well on up to 76% fat. Cholesterol isn’t an issue for them. Sky’s diet matched these guidelines, proving homemade meals could be just as nutritious.A dog typically needs around 2,000 calories a day, but this can vary depending on factors like weather, breed, coat thickness, and activity level. The best way to tell if your dog is eating right is by checking his health, weight, and coat condition.

There are some key differences between Sky and me. Chocolate is toxic to dogs—just a pound of milk chocolate could kill a 20-pound dog. Onions, however, only cause anemia in cats, not dogs. Some adult dogs struggle with lactose, but one expert told me that this only happens if they stop drinking milk altogether. Giving them a little milk can help their digestion return to normal.

You might have heard that dry dog food is the best way to keep a dog’s teeth clean by preventing plaque buildup. While studies have compared wet and dry dog food, no one has scientifically tested dry food against chewing on sturdy bones—which seem to work just as well. For good gut health, about 3% of a dog’s diet should be fiber from fruits and vegetables. Once again, the traditional French diet seems to be the perfect fit.

Sky has completely lost interest in his expensive dry dog food and, despite how boring air travel is for adult dogs, is considering a trip to New York for a week or two of home-cooked meals. The folks at Eukanuba say Sky’s love for real food comes from watching me cook—he stands on his hind legs with his paws on the counter, fascinated by the process. They claim dogs enjoy new foods, so in a month or two, when Sky forgets about his dry kibble, he’ll go back to it with the same enthusiasm he now has for cassoulet. Want to bet on that?