Bessie Anne got her first clue as to where we were going when I put her leash on in the afternoon. In her mind, leashes are for walkies in the dark; leashes in the daytime mean a trip to the vet. It was time for her annual well-baby checkup and immunizations. At the office, Bess immediately ducked under the chairs, hoping to keep a low profile. It darn near took a crowbar to pry her out when her name was called. Last year, in the kindest of terms, Dr. Ric said she was a 10. Ten, in terms of dog, means overweight. It has taken a revision in lifestyle, but Bess has lost three pounds and is now an 8; better, but a way to go. Dr. Ric mentioned she still has love handles, but she's got a waist! My girl is 11 now, and the cataracts and loss of hearing are to be expected. Other than the symptoms of aging, Bessie is in excellent health and we're good to go for another year. We were both glad to come home again.
1 comment:
Oh such good news, and good for the 8, dear Bessie (and Bo!)
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