Good girl, Morgan. Good girl.
Miss Morgan has always been a petite thing of a lab. At 65 lbs. she was lean and healthy. Well, she is still healthy, according to the vet who gave Morgan first 'senior' visit. Teeth couldn't be cleaner, eyes and hips in good shape, blood work (all $300 worth)...perfect. Then Morgan got on the scale. Much like her human mom, she hesitated, sighed and slowly stepped on the scale...one paw at a time. The numbers went up. And up. And up. They crept up to 65 and kept going. 70...75...78 pounds. Morgan turned her head and looked up at me with eyes that could turn the devil into a baby angel. I looked back at her...knowing her pain of getting older...and a little more fluffy. I turned 30. She turned 7. I don't think either of us feel older, but somehow our love of eating good things is taking more effort to conceal. And if no effort is made there is absolutely no concealing. Crap.
She gained over 10 pounds. Not surprising. This dog likes sneaking a bite of her siblings food like a homeless man likes a McDonald's dumpster. At one point we estimate that she was probably downing almost 4 cups of food at breakfast. She is now getting a little less food in her bowl and then quarantined from the others while they graze.
I told her that if she had to lose the weight then I would, too. We are in this together. Two best friends...having each others backs as we grow up and older together... and navigating all that goes along with that.
As a reminder of our goals I put a picture of a Victoria's Secret model on the fridge...and got an obvious smile on Steve's face...and Morgan got a picture of a sexy show-dog of an English Lab above her bowl...and a big smile on Moose's face.
Neither of us have a lot to lose, but it's nice to know we can face it together...just like everything else we do.
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