A step in the wrong direction

Kibble, kibble, the magical scoop,
the more I eat, the more I poop.
The more I poop, the better I feel.
And voila -- another meal!

It's getting better all the time

My saga of weight loss and self-improvement continues. Sometimes Aunt S takes me to the park, where I battle my Cousin R for tennis balls and the prize for getting the most mud on Aunt S. Uncle J and I "ran" a few blocks on the sidewalk today. Well, we trotted. Slowly. I am only willing to go walking and trotting out of the side door rather than the front. There is a perfectly good reason for this, of course, but I'm sure not going to tell Uncle J. He thinks he is so smart, when really he can't even operate the kibble scoop properly to give me the right amount of food. I am so hungry!

I have to eat at the same time as my cousin R, but we each receive our kibble on different floors. You see, R did not grow up in the comfortable suburban developments of Colorado, as I did. He got his start on the harsh streets of Stockton, California, fighting tooth and nail for every last scrap of food. His hip-hop albums, released under the moniker Lil' Stinky, have been praised by critics for capturing the hopelessness and visceral desperation of urban life in the Central Valley. Point being, R is not so good at sharing his food.

Despite my hunger pangs, I have all sorts of new energy, which allows me to do useful things like jumping up and down without my back paws leaving the ground, sort of like an angry horse trying to unseat an invisible rider. Or maybe I am trying to drive my front paws through the floor. Tough to say, really.

One pound down!

One pound down, 19 more to go ... or 29 more ... or 39 more ...

I had my first weigh-in on Friday, and now I'm down to 109.5 pounds. My first goal is to get down to 90 pounds,  but the vet said we will probably have to keep going all the way to 80 or even 70 pounds. I guess I just have to take it one pound at a time ...

Hint of a waistline

At the edge of the horizon, a slight curve in the road: I think I see the hint of a waistline. I've been eating right and walking every day, even jogging a block or two when I can.

I know you can't tell from this photo, but it's there: right below my ribs and above my hips, a little concave line exactly where my waist should be.

October 5, 2010

The journey begins ...

I am not a small dog. The nice ladies at the vet's office said I weigh 110.5 pounds, which is a lot for a Labrador retriever. They were so nice that I left a good pound and a half of black fur on their floor.

September 21, 2010

I recently moved to Fort Collins, and boy do I feel out of place. Everyone here is in such good shape! Even my crazy cousin R is a world-class athlete. There doesn't seem to be much room for good old-fashioned American obesity in this sporty college town.

This is just as well. I've recently experienced some big changes in my life, and I think it's time to take the reins. Don't get me wrong, I love a good treat. What, you have a treat? I'd like a treat. Oh, never mind.

As I was saying, I think it might be time for me to switch things up a bit, considering that I just turned eight and don't seem to be getting any younger. You might not know it from looking at me, or being sat on by me, but I was once a runner. I love to run, I love to chase the ball, I love to frolic in the relentless Colorado sunshine. Alas, my bonus flesh makes it difficult for me to lead the active lifestyle I so enjoy.

Point being, I will never be a small dog, but I've decided to lose some weight. I'll be living with my Aunt S and Uncle J for the next few months, and they said they would help. Then they said: stop licking. I hope you will join me on my journey. I'd love to hear your words of encouragement or stories of your own battles with anthropogenic canine obesity (ACO).