N.B.: This is today’s second post. I can stop any time, really, I can.
This afternoon I took my dog A. to the vet. Dr. L. gave her an almost completely clean bill of health. She is perfect in every way, said Dr. L., except that she needs to lose about a pound.
My dog is fat.
The good news is that this means I have a companion in my increasingly neurotic relationship with food and diet.
The bad news is that she doesn’t speak, so endless obsessive conversations about carbohydrates and calories and exercising in the morning vs. at night—which are of course the greatest joy of an increasingly neurotic relationship with food and diet—will be few and far between.
I wonder if she would do well on Atkins.
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