Not only am I suffering with my broken toe – no beach, no rough play, no being let upstairs for an early morning cuddle – now my mum tells me I am on a diet cos it’s going to be four-six weeks before I am fit. Cutting my food intake – what troubles a dog has to endure. There doesn’t seem to be too much less in my bowl but the treats have diminished. Course, I used to run it off easily but now I’m not getting further than the back gate. I don’t think barking uses many calories. Maybe she’ll give me fruit instead. I know I’ve turned my nose up in the past but my tum has to be filled with something. Apples! Carrots! Plums! Mmm, maybe not plums. Don’t they make you ‘go’? I go enough already.
Heard her on the phone this evening making an appointment with the (whisper) vet for next week. They said I had to get a check after a week or ten days. Maybe I’ll be allowed to have the bandage off, or maybe changed for a different colour. Red, orange, green? Must ponder on that.