Hunger Games

I suppose it’s a symptom of middle age -- that moment when you tip the scales at the impossibly high number you never thought you could possibly reach.

For me, that number was 19.8 pounds – dangerously close to the 20-pound limit to travel in the cabin of a commercial airplane. One extra treat, one more bite of kibble, and I could be … grounded! Even my vet, the kind and beautiful Dr. Smith, who I like a whole lot, said I needed to lose a few.

This came as a mighty blow. I mean, what does a dog really have to look forward to? A pat on the head, a walk in the park, and chow time! That’s it, at least that’s it if you’ve been neutered, which I have. Food is one of my greatest pleasures.

It’s been a few months on the diet dog food, and I gotta say, it’s been pretty rough. Or roughage. Actually, both. All I can tell you is what goes in one end comes out the other. TMI? Portion control is a whole other story.

Thankfully, my tale has a happy ending. When I got on the scale at Dr. Smith’s today, I weighed in at a svelte, fly-ready 18.6 pounds! That’s seven pounds in dog pounds! Oh, wait. That’s dog years, isn’t it?

Don’t mind me. I’m befuddled by hunger.

But when those black boxes with the little wheels come out of the closet again, I’m in, Baby! I’m in!