Friends. Pack members. Snack distributors.
I have some very important news.
I went to the vet for my first annual visit since my Gotcha Day (July 1, thank you very much 🎉), and apparently—apparently—I have been enjoying life a little too enthusiastically.
Let’s review the highlights.
First: I was a VERY good boy.
No fussing. No dramatics. No flailing limbs of despair. I accepted my shots like a dignified gentleman who understands that bravery often earns praise and possibly cookies. (Worth it.)
Second: The Scale Betrayed Me.
Somewhere between August (when I lost a tooth—RIP, buddy 🦷) and now, I gained six whole pounds.
Six.
Pounds.
The vet said words like “pudgy” and “let’s tighten things up a bit.”
Rude.
But fair.
So now I’m on a very serious plan:
- Still ¾ cup of food twice a day
- BUT—no more heaping scoops (Mom is watching the measuring cup like it owes her money)
- Fewer training treats (tragic but survivable)
- And the biggest shock of all…
🍎Apple slices.
One-eighth of an apple. Cut into tiny pieces.
Apparently, this is what “lean living” looks like.
Do I miss my old treats?
Yes. Deeply. Spiritually.
But apples crunch, and I am nothing if not adaptable.
Good news on the health front:
I’m officially on flea and tick preventative, which is excellent because—plot twist—they found a dead tick on me.
Consider that problem handled. Thank you, modern medicine. 💪
All in all, the vet says I’m healthy, handsome, and just need to embrace my inner athlete again.
So if you see me zooming around the yard, chasing dignity and burning calories, mind your business.
I’m still a very good boy.
Just… slightly less squishy than before.
🐾 Nose boops and tail wags,
Tucker 💛