Twenty-nine

Twenty-nine. Nope, it's not the age I pretended to be on my last birthday, it's the number of kilos that Jetty now weighs. Yikes! The vet was somewhat horrified, and I made her write a note to GB, because it isn't my fault he's fat. Someone, not me, believes that it's only fair for the dog to get a little piece of steak or sausage or apple or whatever we're having. I keep telling him that the dog is a dog, therefore he doesn't need people food. But what do I know? So the vet made it clear—no people food. We also have reduced the amount of kibble he gets. Apparently the evil dog food manufacturers overestimate their feeding guidelines by 10-15%. Since we based his daily rations on those, he was being overfed his dog food as well. Oops. So, he's got three months to get back on track, otherwise it's diet doggie food for him. On the plus side, he's much more affectionate since he's had his treats reduced. I guess he just wants to make sure that we still love him. Of course we do, sweetheart. We just want a little less of you to love.