By Bob the Dog, Political Correspondent and Unlicensed Ethicist

Over in Denmark—a land where the pastries are soft but the morals can be crunchy—a zoo is asking citizens to donate their unwanted pets to feed the lions. Yes, you read that right. Your elderly guinea pig, Fluffernutter? Your rabbit with the cataracts and a limp? That retired pony who used to pull kids around the apple orchard until his hip gave out? All invited to Aalborg Zoo’s version of “don’t ask, don’t fetch.”

According to a report in The Washington Post, Aalborg Zoo is making headlines (and stirring stomachs) by accepting small pets and livestock—including chickens, rabbits, and even horses—as food for their carnivorous residents. The catch? These animals must be healthy and calm enough to be humanely euthanized before they become lion lunch. No euthanasia cocktails, no toxins. Just good old-fashioned CO₂ chambers and bolt guns—because apparently, if you’re going to serve up Flopsy to a lynx, you want her to be grass-fed, organic, and respectfully deceased.

And believe it or not, this isn’t a twisted publicity stunt. The Danes are playing it straight.

The zoo’s logic is earthy and pragmatic: animals eat other animals in the wild. And zoos—at least the ones not giving their tigers tofu and therapy—try to replicate wild diets. So it’s bones, fur, organs, the whole shebang. Predators need stimulation, the zookeepers say, and nothing says enrichment like having to gnaw your dinner out of its former skin.

Let’s be honest. This is not entirely insane. It’s weird, yes—like knitting sweaters for snakes—but not irrational. We humans slaughter animals by the billions every year to feed ourselves and our pets. The only difference here is that the goat you forgot to name might end up being filet mignon for a Siberian tiger named Klaus.

Still, the notion of handing over the family bunny for recycling into tiger poop has left more than a few jaws slack. The internet, of course, is aflame. Some folks call it efficient. Others call it ghoulish. And everyone seems to have a strongly worded opinion on whether poor Whiskers deserves to become entrée.

Let’s pause here to note that the zoo does not accept cats and dogs. Not officially. Not yet. But still, this story has tail-wagging potential to escalate. Give it six months and a budget cut, and we could see a “golden retriever buffet” sign taped to the lynx enclosure.

Aalborg’s not the first Danish zoo to flirt with global nausea. You may remember Copenhagen Zoo’s infamous 2014 episode in which they euthanized a healthy giraffe named Marius, dissected him in front of schoolchildren, and served him up to the lions like he was filet of Bambi. It was part biology lesson, part circus, and it sent the international press into a frenzy. But in Denmark, where pragmatism wears Birkenstocks and says things like “the circle of life,” it was just Tuesday.

The real ethical squeamishness here, if we’re being honest, isn’t about death. It’s about proximity. People are perfectly fine with chickens getting beheaded on a conveyor belt in Arkansas. But ask them to hand-deliver their aging hamster for a predator’s breakfast, and suddenly we’ve crossed some kind of invisible line in the moral mulch.

Why? Because it exposes the rickety scaffolding we build around death. It asks us to look a lion in the eye and admit that nature is not a Hallmark card. It’s red, tooth, and claw. And sometimes, it’s your pony.

Now, to be fair, the zoo isn’t forcing anyone. No one’s going door to door with a burlap sack and a promise. It’s voluntary. And in a way, it provides a second life to pets who’ve already outlived their usefulness in the petting zoo economy. It’s not “goodbye”—it’s “bon appétit.”

Would it fly here in the States? Probably not. Our culture treats pets like fur-covered children. We throw birthday parties for them. We buy them raincoats. Hell, we’ve got more dogs in daycare than kids. But Denmark doesn’t run on sentiment. It runs on efficiency, salted licorice, and brutal honesty. And in that environment, Fluffernutter’s final contribution is not a trauma—it’s a tribute.

So the next time you’re staring into the watery eyes of your aging gerbil, think of Denmark. Think of Klaus the tiger, pacing in his enclosure, dreaming of marrow and twitchy legs. Think of a world where even small deaths can serve a grander purpose. And ask yourself: Are we squeamish because it’s wrong… or because it’s too real?

Me? I’m a dog. I’ve eaten worse.