EMMA PATTERSON
Editor of The Scallion
If you attend Fredonia, you know two things to be true: Lake effect snow and dog food.
After years of suspicion regarding the source of the dog food smell, The Scallion decided it was time to investigate. We began by talking to those most affected by the smell: the students.
“I actually thought I had escaped it,” Polly Pocket, a sophomore, said through a government-issued gas mask. “I haven’t smelled it in months. But I was walking to class yesterday and BAM! It just hit me.” Even through the thick plastic covering her eyes, we could tell she was crying. “How could I have been so stupid?” She sunk to the ground, wringing her hands with anguish. “How could I have been so naive?!”
Other students reacted to the unappetizing scent with anger.
“It doesn’t even smell like ‘good’ dog food,” Gregory Hallington, senior, said in an interview, a bandana tied around his nose and mouth. “I think the real question is, what’s with the generic brand of dog food? If they’re gonna treat us like animals, I’d at least like a name brand thrown in,” he said, tugging on the leash of his dog, who was desperately trying to run over to University Commons.
After similar interviews, we finally obtained worthwhile information.
“You didn’t hear it from me, but I’ve heard rumblings that it’s all coming from Cranston,” Benny Full, a junior music industry major wearing a Halloween mask, told The Scallion. “I mean, you step into that place and it smells like a park and a Petco all rolled into one. Definitely suspicious.”
This brought to mind Hallington’s dog from earlier, who had seemingly wanted to go in the direction of Cranston. With this information in mind, The Scallion decided to go right to the source.
However, The Scallion’s investigation into the kibble-y scent hit a wall as soon as we entered Cranston Marché.
“Uh, no comment,” one FSA worker said, appearing thoroughly uncomfortable as we asked him questions about the source of the smell. His bloodshot eyes swiveled in his head as one of our reporters, undercover as a student, grabbed a plate of “meat pockets” from the dinner shelf. The FSA worker’s eyes betrayed the truth that his job forces him to conceal.
Plus, as he tried to bolt out of the kitchens, he tripped on an industrial-sized bag of generic-brand dog chow, scattering both kibble and the cold, hard truth across Cranston’s not-so-spotless floors.
The FSA has not yet commented on the aforementioned bag of chow, but if our investigation into the dog food smell pervading campus has taught us anything, it’s this: don’t eat the meat pockets.