The decorations are down, the Christmas tree is on the compost heap and life is back to normal after weeks of festive excess. Or rather it would be if Mrs. Woman (who thinks she’s in charge) would talk to me. She’s been giving me the silent treatment and it’s doing my head in. Up until now we’ve always got on rather well although it was a visit to the vet in November that triggered the current downturn in our relationship.
Initially everything was okay in fact you could say it was business as usual. The receptionist patted me on the head, a nurse who was passing by stopped to shake one of my paws, while the other dogs looked on enviously.
“Enjoy the sight” I smirked “It’s not every day you see a handsome chap like me.”
Unfortunately the weighing scales were my reality check. The numbers never lie and on this occasion the truth really hurt. Eight months ago I was a svelte thirty something kilos (low thirties!) now my weight has ballooned to an eye popping 44 kilos! Don’t
ask me how or when it happened but I’m now in the league of the heavyweights and I don’t like it. The other dogs must have sensed it because they were smirking with malicious delight.
“Oh no, my poor little Pinkalinka’s a fatty” Mrs. Woman squealed “No wonder his jacket doesn’t fit!”
“It’s not that bad” the Australian nurse replied cheerily “at least he isn’t obese. You just cut down on his portions and he’ll be fair dinkum in no time.”
That was the cue for Mrs. Woman to kick my diet into action. As soon as we got home she put my stash of cheese and garlic biscuits in the cupboard above the kitchen sink.
“Why have you put them up there?” I whimpered “I’m not that tall!”
“I know you’re not happy about this my darling” she said determinedly “but it’s for your own good. You’ve got to lose weight otherwise you’ll get a heart attack and you’ll be dead by the end of the year. And we don’t want that now do we?”
“No we don’t” I thought “but there’s no reason to be so heavy handed.”
One thing I can say about Mrs. Woman is that when she makes her mind up about something she’s unshakeable. She was so hell bent on bringing my weight down that she even went on a diet to give me moral support. The Boss (who thinks he knows everything) thought this was a bit OTT although it wasn’t long before he got in on the act. The only person who refused to play ball was Michaele (Mrs. Woman’s personal assistant).
“That dog’s not fat he’s just bulked out with muscle. You walk him often enough!”
“And the vet says otherwise!” Mrs. Woman snapped “He’s on a diet and that’s that!”
By the third week I thought I was going to die although Michaele came to the rescue when Mrs. Woman and The Boss asked him to take care of me when they went to a charity gig in Guildford Surrey.
“And don’t feed him any titbits” Mrs. Woman said as she left the house.
“I wouldn’t dream of it!”
The moment they’d gone Michaele ordered me into the kitchen and before I knew it I was being showered with cheese and garlic biscuits. They were coming down faster than I could eat them but I didn’t care. Mrs. Woman and The Boss would be out of
sight for the whole day and that made it even better. They were the defendants in a mock trial at the local magistrate’s court and they were supposed to get bail if they sent a cheque for £150.00 to the usher. Unfortunately Mrs. Woman gave the cheque to
Michaele…who “forgot” to post it.
“A night in the slammer will do those two the world of good” he laughed “Come on!”
He hooked the lead to my collar and we went for a stroll in the park. On the way we stopped off for some fish and chips, and while Michaele tucked into some battered cod and potato wedges I made short work of a huge chicken and gravy pie. We spent
the hours topping up on our snacks and enjoying the freedom of a lazy day and by the time we got home, my belly was fit to burst. However I almost up-chucked the contents when we were met by a furious Mrs. Woman and The Boss.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Michaele gasped “I thought you’d be in the cells!”
The Boss looked at him grimly.
“I bet you did. So how come you didn’t post that cheque?”
“Yeah, and I was born yesterday! What are these cheese crumbs doing on the floor and how come Soc’s got pastry flakes on his whiskers?”
Michaele turned a bright shade of red while I swished my tongue around my lips. When that failed to shift the evidence I lowered my head slightly and drooped my eyes, giving Mrs. Woman my tortured seal pup expression.
“Don’t even try it!” she snapped “You’re a bad boy. Mummy’s very upset.”
She stormed off upstairs and wept into her Chanel handkerchief and that was the day when the silent treatment started.
There have been occasional let ups in the hostility but this thaw is a bit too slow for my liking. The way things are going at the moment I’ll probably have to sign up at the nearest gym!
θλίψη είναι εγώ
(Woe is me)