Hello. It’s me!

The week started with a scratchy butt and ended with a tickling tummy.

Dad took me to the vet twice because I spent the better part of a day spinning on my butt like a top, trying to reach it with my mouth in an effort to quell what was likely an itchy hind quarters. It appears I am allergic to something, maybe all of the pollinating plants and cacti in the neighborhood. It was nothing that three Benadryl a day couldn’t sooth, #amirite?

That’s where the good news ended.

You’d think that a one pound weight loss over the past six weeks would please the powers that be, but you’d be wrong. My vet, who ably probed my rear end inside and out (and I mean that quite literally) said that I need to lose a few more pounds. And while I’m not a fan of this …

… I’m even less a fan of one can of calorie-controlled slop coupled with two pieces of turkey jerky and a dozen blueberries a day. 386 calories a day. That’s it.

That’s not living.

So when the UPS driver arrived at 4:30pm today I evaded Mom’s restrictive arms, bolted for the delivery truck, and begged the driver for a snack. The driver delivered!

There’s fifty calories that nobody is getting back … wait, did I hear Dad say he’s cutting back my dinner because of the bonus bone?

Really?

Seriously?

Seriously?

There are five threats that I now monitor.

• Real
• Perceived
• Rusted Metals
• Chupacabra
• Lack of Food.