HUMOUR: a canine conundrum for Amanda Blair
It’s a weighty problem when Eric, his show days behind him, turns to sneaky snacks and bin binges.
January is the month universally recognised as the time to diet. Resolutions are made, protein powders purchased and poundage pledged off via strict caloric reduction.
This year the health expert told me to get serious. I have to replace half of every meal with grated carrot. Every meal? She was blunt in her assessment “We’re dealing with morbid obesity, there’s no hip definition and all I see is a giant loaf of bread on legs.”
Ouch. However, it wasn’t entirely my fault: When we go out people just keep feeding him snacks because he looks so cute. He stares at me with those big brown eyes when I’m eating lasagne so of course I slip a few spoonfuls under the table? I mean, he is man’s (and woman’s) best friend and that’s what friends are for, right? They make you happy and nothing makes Eric the dog happier than a full belly of banned substances.
He wasn’t always this way. When he came to us via a short but successful career on the show dog circuit he was, as you would expect of one in his position, well within his healthy weight range. But then he retired, got comfortable knowing this was his “forever home” and packed it on. His appearance no longer mattered. We’ve all been in Eric’s position from time to time haven’t we ladies? Hands up who threw out their sexy single girl lingerie in favour of cotton cohabitation comfies shortly after marriage?
Boy did he eat, everything he could get his hairy paws on. Basset hounds are able to stretch their long bodies high so nothing on the bench was safe. Whole slabs of butter mysteriously disappeared as did blocks of cheese, packets of luncheon meats and freshly baked banana cakes before we copped on and pushed everything out of tongue’s reach.
We installed a child safe lock onto the cupboard containing the bins after one too many midnight snacking sessions with the compost and we placed bag hooks high up on the wall so that Eric couldn’t touch the school bags. In what can best be described as an act worthy of Houdini himself, on several occasions, without opposable thumbs, Eric managed to open the zips on the school bags and carry the lunchboxes in his mouth out through the dog door and onto the lawn where he happily feasted on my lovingly prepared offerings. Just like the children, he didn’t touch the mini cucumbers.
His remarkable ability to open containers to get to snacks is well known at the local veterinary surgery too. At last count Eric has had his stomach pumped four times after consuming batches of Stephanie Alexander’s double chocolate brownies sealed in Tupperware ready for school cake days.
To soften the blow of the hugely expensive treatment, the vet humorously suggested that I change his name from Eric to Elton …
But just like Elton, it’s time for Eric to clean up his act. I can’t get sucked in by his doe eyes, whimpering and cute tricks with a tennis ball. He’s NOT to be rewarded with Schmackos, pigs ears, liver treats or tidbits from my plate EVER. I’ve asked my husband to bring a “Nil Orally” sign home from the hospital where he works. I’m going to hang it around Eric’s neck as a constant reminder that he’s on a diet.
Actually, I might see if husband can bring an extra one home for me to wear too. It can’t hurt. ’Twas a big December. Grated carrot anyone? AWW