Pet obesity has long been a global problem. The internet is flooded with photos of overweight cats, which instantly go viral and become memes. And who would have thought that my adorable pug, Charlie, would also end up among the fat cats.
But that's exactly what happened. Over the winter, Charlie gained so much weight that at first his favorite warm overalls were bursting at the seams, and then they stopped fitting the fat guy altogether.
Concerned about my chubby little pup's health, I took him to the vet. The verdict was immediate: obesity. I urgently needed to put him on a low-calorie diet and create a menu and schedule for small meals at specific times.
But Charlie wasn't at all keen on the idea. He was used to getting treats whenever and wherever he wanted, and when the first "repressions" against his fat body began, he began to express his resentment in every way possible and resorted to various methods of psychological pressure.
First, we used the light artillery. Charlie tried to please me, obeying any command, although he was never a fan of complete obedience. He would give me a paw and lie on his back in the hope of getting something edible. But I was adamant. He had refused to obey properly for so many years, despite all our training, that I had become accustomed to repeating commands.
Then came the famous Puss in Boots look from Shrek, which even the menacing ogre himself couldn't resist. Then I realized my pet was a real actor, his place in Hollywood. But the Dream Factory prefers leading roles to skinny people, and that's exactly what I told Charlie, justifying my decision to continue the diet by saying that the camera adds an extra five kilograms, and I need to look perfect on camera.
Then I resorted to more powerful weapons of canine manipulation. First, it was the constant barking. I love dogs, and I absolutely adore mine, but loud barking irritates me a little, especially when I need to concentrate on something important. "Earplugs will help, I'll put up with it, but at least my pug will be healthy and beautiful," I consoled myself.
And then the nasty, clawed paws began to scrape the refrigerator. This wasn't a hint, but a full-blown ultimatum and a declaration of war on the diet, and on me, as the main enemy of tasty treats.
And when all of Charlie's attempts were in vain, and he realized this, he hid in a corner and began to whine pitifully.
Honestly, I was scared for my baby, as he was always so playful and cheerful. The first thought that flashed through my head was, "He's sick." I scolded myself for perhaps choosing the wrong foods for the diet or introducing them incorrectly. I knew in my heart that I was following all the doctor's recommendations, but I couldn't figure out why Charlie was feeling so ill. It was depressing.
I had to take him to the clinic for tests. While I waited for the results, my motherly heart gave out, so the plump "patient" was given the best care and, of course, nutritious nutrition, no diets required. All the tastiest things for Charlie, just so he could get better (both literally and figuratively).
When the little scoundrel received his favorite treats, he seemed to even feel better, his mood lifted, a mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes, and a will to live. How happy I was at such moments, even though I silently noted that he had some strange illness, sometimes appearing suddenly, then disappearing. But I had to wait for the test results to confirm my suspicions.
And so my suspicions were confirmed. The pet was perfectly healthy, and his behavior was nothing more than a clever ruse. It turns out he's not only overweight, but also intelligent. And his only diagnosis was "cunning manipulator."
Now I've put Charlie on a diet again. The "crying against the wall" trick no longer works, nor does his signature Puss in Boots look. But he fit into one of the overalls without even a split at the seam. And that's already a result!
