The Dog's On A Diet

Holly, the resident Lhasa Apso, went to the vet this week.  She has had the same vet since she was born, twelve years ago last month.  Suddenly, because we have recently moved, enter a new dog doctor and the poor pooch is wrecked. The new doctor is a bit blunt - or to put it more clearly - she said Holly is too fat.  Period.  Not chubby, not chunky, just
 plain old  f-a-t.

This is just pitiful, because it obviously is not the dog's fault.  She isn't tall enough to reach the cupboard where her food is kept.  And it cannot be mine, as I am not the one who feeds her; not to mention that I have been largely absent for the past several months.  That only leaves one other potential culprit:  the *LOC.  Oh, dear, this is does not bode well for either him or Holly.  (*Lovable Old Coot)

He came home from the trip to the vet looking mildly non-plussed.  He took her in for an allergy shot, but he came home carrying a little measuring cup the vet had thoughtfully provided.  She suggested that he measure Holly's food; that is measure the amount he would normally give her, then cut that in half.

In telling me this sad tale, the LOC says woefully, "Well, we don't want her to starve, do we?"

I try not to smile and decline to point out that this seems highly unlikely, since she is carrying enough extra cargo on her little frame that it could see her through a six-month stint on the frozen tundra.  She could bunk with polar bears and not have to borrow from their food supply.

Okay, so now the dog is on a diet.  I sympathize with her.  I have personally tried a few of those voluntary food deprivation experiments from time to time and it was no fun.  Some worked fairly well, but most made no appreciable difference; unless you counted the difference in my daily mood as I fought the calorie curmudgeons.

The LOC and I try not to eat in front of Holly right now.  If we do, she sits up and begs quietly and politely (although she has a hard time balancing her rotund little body on her bottom).  She reminds me of a Weeble-Wobble.  Remember those?

If the expression in her eyes could be verbalized, I suspect it would be saying something like, "Please, people, how much harm could just one french fry do?"

I don't know how much longer we are going to be able to hold out on her.   And it has only been two days!  She may be pitiful, but we are the pathetic ones.

Wish Holly luck; because with the two of us taking care of her, she is going to need it.  I'm just saying ...
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Hope any diets you are managing are going better than Holly's.  Until next time ...Marsha