Tipping the Scales

In my current trend of thought, with weight and weight loss fixed in my mind, I remembered an incident with my dog a few years ago.

I had taken her to the vet, because she had developed a rash all over her skin. It hadn’t hampered her lifestyle in any way, except she was itching continuously. She was still an obnoxious little git who demanded her way through the day.

The prevailing theory in my house was that the rash was caused by the infection that abounds in India, thanks to dirty roads and surroundings. So, rather than let her highness walk the short distance from the car to the clinic, I carried her in. She loved this treatment because, in spite of her in-house bravado, she was a timid thing.

After catching my breath, we went in to see the vet. I liked him a lot, because he really cared for his patients. On occasion, I’ve seen him eviscerate owners whose pets looked like they experienced neglect, and thus we got along famously: our love for animals over humans creating a bond.

He examined her really quickly, and determined that the rash originated from an infection in her ears [which was already undergoing treatment]. Thus, the normal skin creams I had been using were having no effect. He would give her an antibiotic intravenously, and the rash would clear up in a jiffy.

He asked me to place her on the weighing scale, so that he could measure out the correct amount of medicine. [As an aside, I didn’t know this was standard practice till I met this vet. All the other vets were so incompetent, they never bothered to weigh her.] I plonked her on the scales, and it registered at an even 20 kilos.

The vet turned to me, as I stood there with pride writ large on my face, and said, “You do know that 10 kilos is the ideal weight for this breed, right?”

Yikes.

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