Today the vet stuck a thermometer up my butt and I said, “Gee doc, take a girl out to dinner first!” No one laughed. Instead, my human and the vet discussed options to achieve the “ideal weight” for a Shih Tzu. When we got home, the human replaced my normal kibble with prescription diet dog food. It tastes joyless, like airplane food (economy class) that has been put in a blender and then freeze-dried. Am troubled by these recent events.
The human is making me go on longer walks. Look at my stubby legs, I howl! They can’t go the distance! I was bred to sit on an emperor’s lap!
Even worse news. Treats have been replaced by raw vegetables. Something called a carrot? A terrible, tubular vegetable. Would not recommend.
Later that day
Saw a squirrel digging and storing his nuts. Tried asking him if he would share his goods with me, but he scurried away. Note to self: Must repair relationship with neighborhood squirrels.
Human tried to feed me a dog treat made of smashed peas. She got the recipe from a Pinterest board called “healthy dog treat recipes.” God help me.
Spent the rest of the day burrowing in the couch crevice for crumbs. Found five stale popcorn kernels and some Chex Mix. Will bury them in my dog bed for a later day.
Recently rained and I noticed many mushrooms have sprouted in the area. Should I sign up for that urban foraging class I saw on Groupon? Could come in useful.
Not all mushrooms are friends. This one made me puke! Turns out it was poisonous! My stomach had to be pumped! All I could think about in the operating room was, “Will this make me skinnier?” Diet culture has ruined me!
Recovered from surgery. Distrustful of all fungi now.
Today we walked by a dog bakery. A dog bakery! A nice lady came out and offered me a treat, but the human said, “No thank you, she’s on a diet.” I whine and beg. I flash good ol’ puppy eyes. I ham it up so much my eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Save me! I want your biscuit treat!” I cry as I’m being dragged away.
The human had no mercy and made me do more laps around the neighborhood.
Today I was given an ice cube as a treat. Blink blink blink. I’m afraid the human has truly lost it.
Called animal protection services. They said making me lose weight doesn’t count as animal abuse. I said, “You try sucking on an ice cube as a treat and tell me what you think! I demand to speak to the manager!” They blocked my number.
Saw a Weimaraner jogging alongside his owner, a tall, fit shirtless man with six-pack abs. Some people just want to rub it in, ya know?
Great news though, I can trick the human into more frequent stops on walks by pretending to sniff and pee.
Update: the human has figured out my sniff trick. Now I’m only allocated four sniffs per walk.
Human purchased a scale to weigh me daily. The indignity! I protested by pooping on the scale.
Later that day
Terrible news. My protest has inspired human to keep daily track of how much I poop. She now weighs out my poops on the scale individually! “This is why you’re single!” I tell her.
The human is making me wear a fitness tracker around my collar to count my steps! I will be unleashed from these chains that bind me!
The human got me a doggy treadmill. I!! Kid!! You!! Not!!
Later that day
It is very hard to poop on a moving treadmill.
SOS. I feel my body slowly atrophying. It’s gotten to the point where I look forward to eating my preventative flea and tick medication.
Tensions are high. The human decided we needed a mediator so she enrolled us in couples counseling. We arrive at the therapist’s office and at first there is a bit of confusion because the counselor assumes I am an emotional support animal. I assure her I am nothing of the sort. We are here today because the human is causing me immense amounts of distress!
The therapist asks me what the human has done to anger me. “Well, did she tell you she recently created a blog to document my ‘weight loss journey’?” I lift up my paws to make air quotes. “An online blog! As if that’s so original!”
The therapist asks me what my ideal life would look like without “human intervention.”
“Well, you know that pug from Disney’s Pocahontas. You know, the colonial one? The one who eats cherries in his little bathtub? That one. Now, was he worried about his weight? No! All he had to worry about was that raccoon stealing all his snacks. Meanwhile, my human is making me work out on a dog treadmill and serving me tiny portions of smashed peas and ice cubes! I’m so angry I could just poop right now on this couch!
The therapist says, “Please don’t poop on the couch. That’s not covered by the insurance.”
Not much more progress is made in that session.
I spend the day in bed trying to conserve my energy. I dig up the popcorn kernels and Chex Mix I stored days ago. I dream of dog bakeries while trying to suck what little flavor is left in these stale crumbs. My owner calls me over, time to exercise! I guess this is my life now.