Motherhood and Muffin Tops : Hunting and Gathering

10:28 PM

A bout with itchy skin had landed her at the vet. She’d tried to keep her scratching to a minimum because she knew it would come to this. Now, here she was driving up to the house of torment and agony and her human was trying to coax her out of his truck with his lies and empty promises. She pulled the leash one way, while he pulled the other. He eventually won the tug-of-war and she slowly walked the dreaded path to the front door.

They signed in and found a seat in the waiting room with the other unfortunates. Soon came the words that always stopped her heart, “Ruby Miller.” She panicked. From there, it was all a blur. She can’t remember if she walked into the exam room on her own power or if she was dragged across the floor by her leash but there she was in the medieval torture chamber. She heard her human talking some kind of nonsense to the lady- something about itching- and that’s when they said they needed to weigh her. “Uh, oh,” she thought. She wasn’t expecting this. She was just there for itching. Why would they need her weight? “Unnecessary tests to fleece my humans,” she assumed. Forced up on the scale, the lady called out the number for all the clinic to hear. Just blurted it out in front of the little chihuahuas, the dainty Yorkies- everybody- “65!” She closed her eyes, hoping to escape her current reality as she listened to the nurse and her human discuss those loathsome words. Weight loss.

Only 62 at her last visit, her human looked at her disapprovingly and her mind went back to all of the recent scavenger hunts for snacks she’d taken throughout the neighborhood. It had been a glorious few weeks, but it had finally caught up with her. “Let’s see,” she thought. There was that bag of Cool Ranch Doritos she’d found in the neighbor’s garage where she discovered their Frito-Lay variety packs. An embarrassment of riches, that was.

Then there were the Flaming Hot Cheetos she’d gone back to try. Not too bad if chased with lake water.

There were the other flavors her human had found buried in the flower beds, but do those really count? And she’d almost forgotten the pack of butter grits she’d stumbled upon while out on a stroll. They were the instant kind as in instant gratification- although a bit dry.

Oh, and she remembered there was that day she’d finished off the peanut butter cookies she’d stolen from another neighbor’s house. “That was a good find,” she recalled.

The startling number on the scale was starting to make sense now as her mind drifted to the victorious moment she sneaked a bag of Turtles from a neighbor moving back home from college. What a euphoric feeling she’d had coming home with that prize clinched between her teeth.

And then she remembered the package of assorted Jolly Ranchers she’d borrowed from the little boys while they were playing in their yard.

And the flour tortillas she’d lifted from the roofers who were on their lunch break.

She guessed those things coupled with her rigorous nap schedule had brought on these new numbers that were being recorded on her chart. She doubted anyone fully knew all pressure she was constantly under with keeping the place secure which likely led to the chronic exhaustion and stress eating. Oh, and she remembered how the heat had her circling right back to the house just as soon as her humans got out of sight on their walks. It was too hot to exercise.

Of course, she couldn’t forget she was nearing her 49th birthday and could only assume menopause was partly to blame for her inability to eat like she once did and still maintain her girlish figure. She’d heard her human say that, so she was claiming it, too. It had always been a struggle for her. Some of her people were Bassetts and long known for their short, sturdy frames and wide birthing hips. “You just can’t fight genetics,” she told herself.

And as they made their way back to the truck, her human started to talk with her about making healthier choices and giving up the neighborhood pillaging of junk food snacks- which went in one long, floppy ear and out the other.

Night, y’all!

JONI

Hunting and Gathering

0 comments:

Post a Comment

Follow by Email!

Popular Posts

Blog Archive

Labels

Labels