My Wiener Dog Is Fat

This will be a brief blog to commemorate my dog, Gidgett. Gidgett is not dead; however, by the looks of things, I thought that it may be time to write about her.

Gidgett is a fat, slightly angry wiener dog who often smells like an old, dirty burrito.  I like to refer to her as “full figured”… but pretty much everyone that meets her for the first time says –

 GOOD GOD, YOUR DOG IS FAT.

"I'm sexy and I know it...."

Luckily, Gidgett doesn’t speak English, so her feelings aren’t hurt.

One of my sister’s friends once told me that it was a sin to have a fat dog. To my knowledge, this isn’t true and is not clearly documented in the Bible. Yes, gluttony is a sin, however, my dog is not a sinner. OK, so she enjoys a good meal, but really, who doesn’t?

"I'm hungry, Don't  judge"

I Googled "how to tell if your dog is fat" and after a bit of research, I found a “dog-fat test” that looked moderately legitimate.  It involved testing your dog's ability to show self-control, like not eating a whole bag of Cheetos if left unattended. 

"Belly fat is not your fault."

I gathered the necessary supplies and began testing.  

The first test asked me to leave a donut on the floor to see how quickly your dog would run toward it. That fat dog ran like a 12 year old girl towards Justin Beiber.  But, who wouldn’t? I would push my grandma to the floor to get to a fresh, hot, krispy kreme donut. Honestly, I’m not sure if she passed the test because of her agility, or if she failed it because she swallowed the donut without even chewing it. She literally suctioned it up into her mouth and poof – it was gone.

"So I ate some granola bars. Don't make eye contact."

The following day, I left an unpeeled banana on the floor. Gidgett slowly meandered towards the banana and half-assed ate it, looking like she was longing for the donut from the day before.

The next step was to put her on an exercise program. We walked to the end of the block. HEY, no judging.. her legs are only like an inch tall and her belly drags the ground, causing a nasty rash. She made some cursory attempts at freeing herself from the leash; it became clear that it would be too much work for her. So I drug her back home.

"The princess shall not exercise"

So, I’ve decided that as long as she can get up and walk to her dog bowl, its all good. Even if she’s eating mashed potatoes and fruity pebbles. 

The End.