My red blood cell count is up to 46.
The highest it’s been since February.
Mom started doing the wiggledy pig dance.
I would have done it too – but all I wanted to do was get out of there.
Much as I’m fond of Dr Dean – I’m done with been a sick doglet for the rest of my life – hopefully.
There’s a snag though.
Whilst we were waiting – eyeing out a little white fluff-ball that some dude was holding onto for dear life (like I was going to snarf it down for breakfast – honestly – I’m so misunderstood sometimes) mom spotted the scale.
Oh! Fudges, she said, let’s weigh you and see how much of a mafutatjie you have become!
I batted my eyes.
Let’s rather not.
But she insisted.
It’s one of those scales where doglets can just step onto it.
Then you have to keep still for a bit so the flashing red numbers can stop flashing.
Mine flashed for a bit longer than I would have liked.
Mom let out a howl!
Jeez Fudges!
32.5 kilograms.
You’ve picked up 7kg’s since you’ve been sick.
Rolled my eyes.
Don’t be so dramatic woman!
It’s all the cortisone I’ve had to swallow.
Dr Dean said it would make me hungry.
Hungry means I eat more… so no big surprise – I weigh more too.
But noooooo.
Mom had to make an issue of it.
Just then another one of the nice Auntie Vets walked in and exclaimed that I looked just like a block of Fudge.
Sjoe! Well that’s just rude.
Another Auntie Vet joined in the conversation.
You’ll have to put her on diet she said.
I gasped and nearly choked on my whiskers.
Diet? Oh no!
I’ve been a sick doglet.
No diets for me.
But that wretched mom walked over to the dog food section and grabbed a bag of stuff that the (now) nasty Auntie Vet pointed out.
Dr Dean joined the group.
To his credit he stuck up for me.
But she’s been on cortisone for months and months… the Auntie Vets shouted him down.
It’s not good for her to be fat.
Get the diet food!
Mom got the diet food.
Now I’m only allowed micro popcorn, apple slices (no pips), celery, carrots and cucumber for treats – do they think I’m a rabbit?
