Hannah Zulueta The History of Dog Food Is Actually About Marketing, Not Dogs
The story usually stops at “big companies bought little companies.” Here’s the part that gets left out.
You know the kibble origin story: Spratt’s, hardtack, horse meat, wartime shortages. That version misses the most interesting part.
This was never really a story about dog food. It’s a story about marketing.
The same companies that convinced women their kitchens were prisons are the ones that later convinced us we couldn’t be trusted to feed our own pets.
What does the standard kibble history actually leave out?
You know the history lesson we all get about kibble. Spratt’s made dog biscuits after someone noticed dogs eagerly devouring hardtack on the London docks. A man named PM Chapel saw an opportunity in horse meat, turning what was essentially waste into canned dog food. Then, around WWII, when metal was scarce and shelf-stable food was king, cheap dry dog food took off, and General Mills, the same company that would later tell women cooking was drudgery, entered the pet food business.
And that’s usually where the story ends. Neat and tidy. Big companies bought little companies, and here we are.
But that version misses the most interesting part, because this isn’t really a story about dog food at all. It’s a story about marketing. About how corporations didn’t just create products, they created doubt. About how the same companies that convinced women their kitchens were prisons were the ones telling us we couldn’t feed our own pets.
I started thinking about this darker subplot when I remembered Michael Pollan’s warning about corporations not wanting us to cook. He’s pointed out that home cooking is in freefall, not by accident but by design, because corporations have a vested interest in keeping us out of our kitchens. Every meal cooked at home is a meal they can’t sell us.
What actually happens when you walk down a modern grocery aisle?
This got me thinking again the other day at Trader Joe’s. It had been years since I’d shopped there, but it’s close to my school, and I was craving dark chocolate, so I went to see what had changed.
Walking through those aisles felt like stepping into a museum of modern food confusion. The parking lot was packed and the lines were long, but nobody was buying ingredients. They were buying solutions, meals wrapped in plastic promises of convenience. Heat, and eat.
I get it. We’re all juggling jobs, families, and commitments, and time feels like a luxury none of us can afford.
But here’s the thing: while we’re saving time, what are we actually losing?
How did we actually get here?
To understand these aisles of pre-made solutions, we have to look back at what was happening in America when convenience food first took hold. Women were fighting for fundamental rights: the right to work outside the home, to hold their own bank accounts, not fully legal until 1974, to be seen as more than housewives. The feminist movement was gaining real momentum, challenging traditional roles and demanding equality.
Corporate America saw an opportunity.
They didn’t just observe the women’s movement. They hijacked it. Ad agencies realized they could capitalize on women’s legitimate fight for equality by positioning new appliances and convenience foods as tools of liberation.
It was brilliant, really. They took women’s authentic struggle for rights and turned it into a reason to buy processed food.
Think about the actual landscape: women were pushing for equal pay, fighting workplace discrimination, demanding reproductive rights, and seeking economic independence. And what did food companies do? They positioned their products as allies in that fight. They weren’t just selling TV dinners. They were selling a narrative that cooking was holding women back.
The messaging was calculated. Want to be a modern woman? Get out of the kitchen. Want to show you’re progressive? Embrace convenience foods. Want to break free from domestic chains? Let food companies do the cooking.
In the 1950s, food companies linked convenience foods to women’s liberation directly. Betty Crocker wasn’t just selling cake mix, she was selling freedom. General Mills wasn’t marketing processed food, they were marketing emancipation from the kitchen.
What did the actual ads say, word for word?
The ads were masterful. Among the messages:
- “You’ve got better things to do than cook!” (Swanson TV Dinners, 1960s)
- “For women who have more important things to do than cook” (Campbell’s Soup, 1970s)
- “Open a can, open up possibilities” (Del Monte, 1960s)
They transformed the kitchen from a source of power into a symbol of oppression. Your grandmother’s cooking knowledge? Outdated. Her recipes? Too time-consuming. Her skills? Unnecessary in the modern world.
And they did the exact same thing with pet food: leave it to the experts, don’t risk your pet’s health with homemade food, trust the science, but only their science.
So where does that actually leave you?
Let me be clear, this isn’t about judgment. This isn’t about shaming anyone’s food choices or how they feed their pets. We’re all doing our best in a world that moves faster every year.
This is about recognizing the programming that needs to be unlearned. Every time you think “I can’t cook” or “making dog food is too complicated,” that’s not your own voice. That’s decades of marketing speaking through you.
The path forward isn’t going from microwave meals to master chef overnight, or from kibble to gourmet dog food in one leap. It’s small steps back toward confidence:
- Cooking one simple meal a week
- Adding fresh foods to your dog’s bowl
- Reading labels and asking: would my grandmother recognize these ingredients?
The greatest marketing achievement was never the convenience foods or the kibble itself. It was convincing us of four things:
- Cooking is drudgery
- Real food is too complicated
- We need corporations to feed ourselves and our pets
- Dependency is actually freedom
Convenience has its place, and we’re all busy. But maybe the answer isn’t another heat-and-eat meal or another premium kibble bag. Maybe it’s remembering that feeding ourselves and our dogs doesn’t require a food science degree. It just requires unlearning what corporations have taught us about our own capabilities.
The most radical act of rebellion is believing you can cook. For yourself. For your family. For your dogs, and if you don’t want to cook for them, you could just not cook it and feed it raw. Starting small, starting simple, but starting somewhere.
If your grandmother could do it without a food science degree, so can you.
And that possibility is exactly what scares them most.
You don’t need a food science degree to feed your dog well
If you want food actually built around your dog’s own needs, not a marketing claim on a bag, that’s TCM Dietetics and personalized nutrition, the work I actually do.
Hannah Zulueta obtained her Certificate in Canine Nutrition from CASI Institute. She is also studying for her Doctorate in Acupuncture, Traditional Chinese Medicine, and Herbalism from the esteemed Pacific College of Health and Medicine. If you’re as keenly interested in health for yourself, visit her website for human health: Satori Acupuncture and Herbs.
She resides in San Diego with her three dogs, Maggie, Orbit, and Mr. Higgins.
She is available for one on one consultations. She develops evidence-based recipes that meet both NRC and AAFCO nutritional standards while integrating the therapeutic food principles of Traditional Chinese Veterinary Medicine into her formulations.
Additionally, you can find her sharing free content on Instagram.
