While walking Chewie and Asta today I bumped into a neighbor walking his dog. We let everyone sniff everyone and everything and then he said without any conversation preceding, “You know there are a lot of really good dog foods on the market now for obese dogs.”

Excuse me? Are you saying my dog is fat? Do you see his manly, macho, king-of-the-jungle like mane?

Chewie is 13 that’s 91 to me and you. We’ve taken him off the wet food that caused him to bulk up considerably and he’s now on a vegetarian diet of sweet potato and salmon. His osteoarthritis keeps him from going on long walks now that his back knee tends to buckle under him. But I didn’t feel like explaining all this to the helpful neighbor. What I really wanted to say is, “You know there are all kind of barbers in town and you don’t have to wear your hair in that puffy, comb over way.” But I didn’t, I just nodded and said, “He’s actually really fluffy under all that fat.”

This entry was posted on Friday, April 9th, 2010 at 12:19 pm and is filed under Random acts of mothering. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.