There is a certain amount of inherent humor about making a culinary fuss for an animal that, if left to its own devices, will gleefully eat a piece of poop with corn in it.

So the idea that dogs require — or particularly care for — a frozen treat resembling but not actually emulating ice cream seems a bit far-fetched.

But Frosty Paws is going to try and sell us on the concept, regardless. The packaging is effective. It's wicked effective. The cover of the box is an artistic rendering of what may be the happiest Terrier ever conceived by the human imagination. Its bright little eyes and big, happy tongue telegraph pure canine delight. And the red plaid scarf it wears says: "My owner pampers me. And I love it. Feel my cuteness! Tremble before it!"

Needless to say, the dog's tail is poised in "wag" position.

So, it's hard not to resist buying a box of Frosty Paws and trying them at home. We've all tried dog food at one point or another — on a dare, on a bet or as a curious youngster. Perhaps we used to snack on handfuls of Kibbles 'n Bits during class in college. It's not at all unusual.

At all.

So frozen dog treats seemed like a logical step, and a good way to bridge the human/canine gap. A friend agreed to help with the sampling, so before embarking on a three-hour viewing of Lawrence of Arabia, we opened up the box of Frosty Paws and popped out one of the small, single-serving plastic cups of dog treat material.

My human dining companion took a small bite, and immediately ran to the bathroom. After spending several minutes generating little retching noises, he began cursing at me.

"Can you describe the flavor?" I asked, pen and paper in hand. "I need to write a review of it."

His unintelligible reply was distinctly hostile, tinged by a note of betrayal. He then began washing out his mouth. It would seem that the tasting and writing would be left to the reporter.

Frosty Paws tastes pretty terrible, at first. It has a flavor like glue, or coagulated gravy, but colder. But then after a few seconds, it begins to melt and the taster is swept away by a nuanced but overpowering compulsion to barf like a sailor on shore leave.

Human packaging. Human concept. But a taste only a dog — or a carrion bird, perhaps — could love. "I have seen this stuff in action, and one dog I personally know goes positively crazy with joy when she gets this delicious treat," says one website. But "sometimes the rest of the dog says it just doesn't like this foreign substance," says another.

To the credit of Associated Ice Cream, the ingredients on the side of the box do prominently mention "animal fat." And while it might be helpful to potential human tasters to print this on the box's cover, it's understandable that they bury the headline and stick with the happy Terrier.

Run-DMC has words of advice for those who would eat dog food: "You be illin'."

Sage words, Run-DMC. Sage words.

— James Norton (jrnorton@flakmag.com)