health

Croc the Dog: A Hilarious Mealtime Experience

Our mastiff-lab mix came to live with us about seven years ago at the age of three at a svelte ninety pounds. Having no interest in body image or physical fitness once he moved into a childless home, he let himself go and started packing on the pounds. He eventually got up to a a roly-poly one hundred twenty-eight pounds. Though he continued to be proud of himself, we dreaded taking him to the vet. It wasn’t so bad if we got the portly vet, but the slim and trim vet fat dog-shamed us. I’m pretty sure she came close to mentioning our physiques, like dog like dog parent I guess.
we tried cutting back on the amount we fed him, but he begged for food incessantly .

After considerable suffering, I decided to can his food myself: one third each portions of lean meat, vegetables, and brown rice. The weight started to drop off. Over about three months, he’s lost twenty-eight pounds and is allergy-free. He gets a quart every morning and evening

.I thought you might like to see how my big dog Croc feels about his food. You needn’t watch the 4 minute 24 second video to get the idea. For the full experience, turn the sound up. He usually interrupts his meal half-way through to drink about a pint of water, not bothering to close his massive mouth before walking back to his food bowl, wetting four feet of kitchen floor en route. He never wastes a morsel of food, except maybe to get a smear on my white cabinet doors. He’s generally grateful enough after a meal to come kiss me.

Update on Mother

If you’ve followed me for a while, you may remember frequent posts about my mother. At ninety- four, she lives independently, manages her life and business, and still gardens. I see her several times a week and do her heavy lifting. She rotates her housekeeping on on a daily schedule, so her house is clean as a pin. Her neighbors call in for coffee, so she’s very social. The best of all is her good nature. Every morning when I call, she says, “I feel so good.”

Update on Mother

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I have been AWOL for a while due to some family situations, so I have some updating to do.  First of all, I’ve always posted a lot about Mother.  She is fine at ninety-two.  We avoid getting out because of corona virus, so it was a treat to go blueberry picking a few days ago. We only saw a couple of other pickers far afield, as happy to avoid contact as we were.

The sky was a pure, crystal blue and mountainous, cottony white-clouds transformed above us.  Had I been nimble as a five-year-old, I would have stretched out in the grass watching clouds change from horses to gnomes, to a covered wagons. Six decades certainly interferes with the pleasure of prolonged cloud performance.  A slight breeze brought welcome comfort in the Louisiana heat as we lounged with lemonade at a picnic table shaded by a giant oak.

I do believe this cloud was working up to the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

 

 

Mother still works in her yard almost every day.  She  comes from long-lived stock.  Her grandfather lived to ninety-six, before succumbing to stubbornness.  He might still be with us otherwise. He had a numb leg from a Civil War injury. An iron bedstead did him in when he hung a toe on his iron bedstead heading outdoors to the toilet, tripping  and cracking his head..  A brain bleed did him in four days later.