What Do You Mean I Have to Go on a Diet?

by Kemosabe, Dog on a Diet

I went to the vet last week because Crockett stubbed his toe and the human was all freaked out, so she wanted his foot looked at.  I went along to keep Crockett company and to entertain the vet techs.

There was a new vet in the practice, and after he examined Crockett and declared a slightly sprained toe, he looked at me and said, “have we weighed him recently?”

I dutifully followed the vet tech out to the scale and then my weight was announced: “Seventy pounds.”

“ACK”, my human cried out.

“Needs to lose at least ten pounds,” the vet said.

What?  I am big boned, I am muscle, I am hair, I am built like a fullback.

That night I heard the humans talking about my diet.  About portions being carefully controlled.   I looked at my food bowl…there was a tiny amount of food in it…food for a Chihuahua perhaps, not a guy like me.  I sucked up that meal in two nanoseconds.

Then I heard my human giving Peter a long list of don’ts:  “Don’t feed him treats, don’t feed him the regular kefir, on a diet he now gets the low-fat Kefir, don’t let him steal food from the other dogs, oh and no sharing your leftovers with him.”

What is this, some sort of masochistic canine extreme weight loss program? No treats? No leftovers? How am I supposed to live?

The next day, Buckaroo and I went out to boss the horses around.  We really aren’t supposed to, but it’s fun.  Then we heard the whistle.  The whistle means COME.  So we trotted back to the house like good dogs.  Thunderbear and Crockett were already there, knowing that when the whistle blows that means TREATS.

We each waited patiently for the hand in the pocket…out came the treats…wait, that isn’t a treat, it’s a piece of a carrot.  The other boys had already gulped down their BioStar treats, and what do I get? A piece of a carrot.

There is something intrinsically wrong with this.  First off, a carrot is not a treat.  It is a vegetable that the equines eat. Secondly, carrots are best enjoyed when combined in a delicious stew or grated and mixed with raw elk or buffalo meat.

The Geneva Convention ruling on treats for dogs does not include carrots.  I am sure of it.

I spit the carrot out.

I gave her my best sad look.

She was totally unperturbed.

She continued with her torturous practices.  She tried to give me frozen green beans as a treat.  What part of a frozen green bean looks like a marrow-bone to you?  When Peter tried to slip me a crust of his gluten-free bread, she crossed both her arms in a kind of power stance that spoke volumes…to him.

That delicious crust went to…the chickens.

So it is official.  With this diet, I am living One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.  I am living with Nurse Ratched.

The cats find all this terribly amusing.  They sit in front of me, purr, clean their whiskers, smell of fish and say I’m hungry, I think I’ll grab a snack, and meander through the cat door to their food bowls…where I can hear them crunching.

I had one last hope:  that after getting to the office at BioStar, the production team, who has always given me treats, would take pity on this poor hungry dog and sneak me some goodies. But no.  In a loud voice, Nurse Ratched exclaimed, “No treats for Kemosabe.”   I did try my best. I sat adoringly next to the crew as they ate their lunch, hoping for a piece of a sandwich snuck under the table… even a potato chip.  Not one crumb came to my lips.

I don’t know how long I have to go on like this. Maybe when I melt away into a shriveled shell of my former self, I will have reached the magic weight of ten pounds lighter and diet will be done.  I hope it’s by tomorrow.