So....I just brought lil' guy home from the vet. We had to have some weird growths checked out. Turns out he has canine warts...grody, I know. So much for those kisses I have been letting him give me. He is *so* cut off. Warts=no love. I'm fairly certain this notion was cemented in my 7th grade health class--you know, the one with the very "special" information about boys and girls...and warts.
I also learned that fatso needs to lose 4-5 pounds. Deep down, I dream of being able to attach his little leash to a treadmill while I lay on the couch eating ice-cream. In reality, I think it has more to do with eating too much. Not his normal Iams diet, but the run-into-the-kitchen-and-living-room-and-scarf-down-what-I-can-before-Mommy-finds-me" diet. This happens a few times a week. Dobbie is quite the world traveler of scraps. He has dined on Mexican, Indian, Pakistani, and All-American, including my leftover omelet from Stacks this week. At least he has good taste.
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