I think I might be in need of a shrink.
And I’m talking about one of those dudes where you go flop on the couch and tell them all your problems.
Not the kind of shrink where you go on diet and fit into your fur better.
Although when I think of it – that’s the root of my current problem.
Ever since Alpha went on leave in December we’ve been going for a walk in the veld. Every single day. Well… almost.
Except for when it rained and that did not often happen in the morning.
I’m telling you people – I am one sylph-like canine. Sleek, I say. With a waist to die for.
Twenty four kilos of firm flesh. You can even see my rib bones if I stand in a certain light at a certain angle.
And yet, every single morning one or other tannie, and, I might add, it’s always the aunties that are concerned with weight – tells me I’m fat.
Sjoe! They say… He’s fat hey!
He? Hullo! I’m not a he. I’m the most ladylike Fudgie a Fudge could be.
Nor am I fat.
Stupid human.
Pity I’ve usually emptied myself by that stage otherwise I’d leave them a puddle to step in.
Mom always used to stop and say… No, no – SHE’s a big dog on short legs. She’s not fat at all. She’s just right – even the vet says so.
But they just shake their heads and one can so see that they don’t agree one teensy bit.
The other day we were trotting along. We passed an old wrinklie.
A really wrinkled wrinklie. Did I stop and say… Hey old lady! You need an iron.
I did not. That would have been just plain rude.
But the old bag had the cheek to say to Mom… he really really needs the exercise!
And that wretched mom just smiled and said… he sure does!
POW! Screeched to a halt and gave mom one of her own evil eyes.
What? You are not sticking up for your previous doglet anymore? You traitorous woman!
Mom gave my ears a scratch. Sorry Fudgie-wena. It’s easier to just smile and wave when people are rude than try and put things right.
We know you are the most beautiful woofa and that’s all that counts.
Happy 2014 people. Be nice.
* As told to Ginny Stone
