Why I don't cook?

I had a sensory memory replay while prepping chili for the Super Bowl party.

Very odd.

When I was 10, my parents decided to get me a dog. I don't recall actually asking for one, not in the sense of "Oh, PLEEEEEEEZZZZZE can't I get a dog???! Please-oh-please-oh-pleeeezzze??" That's not to say I wasn't happy; I was over the moon about it. We went to the pound (actually, it was called the Dumb Friends League) and picked out a dog.

ANYWAY.

About the same time the dog arrived, I started learning to make dinner some nights. Mealtime was scheduled for the same time for the people as for dog. So I'd open the canned dog food--he wouldn't eat the dry stuff--dump it in his dish in the midst of cooking whatever simple meal I was doing for us. One of the early, easy meals was tacos. Every time I opened the can of refried beans, I'd do the standard double-take: didn't I already feed the dog?

Over the years, the smell of refried beans seemed to dissipate, or change. When we got our dog after we were married, the vet strongly suggested that we not feed her too much canned food; stick with the bags of dry food. Consequently, we didn't buy much canned dog food.

This morning, I opened a can of off-brand refried beans...and was transported back about 30 years.

How can I possibly enjoy eating these things as much as I do knowing that they smell like Alpo??