Phat Stuff

“I think we’re feeding him too much,” said Em.

“Oh? Why?” I returned.

“Well, I weighed him today, and he came in at twelve-and-a-half pounds – ”

“Holy crap!”

” – after he pooped.”

“Holy crap!”

“So I think we’re feeding him too much.”

“Well, didn’t Joy say he’d get to be about fourteen pounds?”

“Yes, but in seven months!?”

“Good point.”

“Not only that, but he’s picked up two-and-a-half pounds in the last month.”

“Yes, that does seem like a lot. Although, it may not be: I mean, in dog years isn’t he already three and a half?”

“Yes he is.”

“Hmm, it’s a conundrum. I mean, I have noticed that the little tub o’ lar – I mean, the little sweetie – has been harder to carry around the last while.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

“Where is he now?”

“Having lunch.”

They can’t possibly be talking about me!