The world is my buffet!

I'm not fat ... I'm just, er, big-boned!

April 2nd 2005 8:36 am
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It’s been awhile since my last diary entry. Mommie and Papa have been so busy on the computer that I’ve hardly had an opportunity to just sit down and type. And the thing is, I’ve been a bit depressed lately. Haven’t felt like sharing my problems with the world. Until now.

A couple weeks ago, Mommie and Papa took me to a bad, bad place. As usual, they hyped the trip up as “some place fun.” I gladly hopped into the car, as I always do, in anticipation of going to the beach or to the pet store for more bullies. But not this time.

I heard them mutter words, like “groomer,” “eagle-like talons,” and “clipped” as we headed for the door of an unknown building. Immediately, I got the “uh-oh” feeling upon entering. This was NOT “some place fun.” This was a place I had only heard about from my best Schnauzer buddy Zem called “the groomer.”

Just wait one minute, I thought. I am a short-haired, smooth-coated canine. No grooming necessary. And besides, I obsessively take care of myself when it comes to grooming. And then a strange man hoisted me up onto a table and said the meanest thing ever.

“Wow, what a lardass … how much do you feed this thing?”

Excuse me? Me, overweight? Sure, I love to snack. And beg for people food as much as the next beagle. But I maintain my rather svelte physique by eating two medium-sized servings of Beneful per day and partake in three to four walks per week. I have the occasional burst of cardio after a bath where I like to run around the house like a wild banshee and leap onto beds and couches and “swim” on the carpet like a crazywoman.

I heard Mommie attempt to defend my, ahem, heaviness by telling the evil groomer man all of those things, but he didn’t buy it. And decided to punish me for being *sniff* fat. He then proceeded to – look away if you must – CLIP MY NAILS!

I cried out like I was being murdered to warn the other dogs in wait that this evil groomer man had insulted me and was now trying to kill me, all because I enjoy filet mignon and potato chips. I writhed and squirmed and howled until finally the man had to put me over his knee in order to finish this torturous ordeal.

The whole situation upset Mommie quite greatly. She even had to leave the torture chamber and wait outside until it was all over. And when it was all over? The evil groomer man, who had called me fat and tried to kill me, had the audacity to give me a cookie. Like that would make things all better.

Needless to say, I have been quite depressed as of late. And wondering if this situation has occurred for other beagles. I implore you all, my faithful beagle buddies, to send me a message and take this weight, so to speak, off my shoulders by telling me how much you weigh and how much to eat. I need to know that I am NOT in the minority of the beagle world. That us beagles, we like to chow. And when we get older, sometimes we gain a few extra pounds. Is that so bad?

 
 

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