Sue and our friend Juanita showed up at work last night to check out Funkadesi. As is standard these days, "staying for one set" translated to staying all night, since Funkadesi only played one two-hour set (including a version of "Sweet Home Alabama' that would make Skynrd blush).
Anyway, as I was doing the books at the end of the night, Sue and I were talking, and out of left field she says, "Emmy's putting on some weight."
I looked at her and thought of saying like an impetuous child, "No, YOUR dog's putting on weight, you ... fatty dog owner!!" I chalked it up to Sue feeling a little less pain than she normally does; she becomes aversely chatty and eager to be a contrarian. Still, the comment stuck with me.
This morning I went to buckle Emmy's collar, and it was fitting a bit tight. Then I'm checking out her frame, and I can barely see the impression of her ribs, although her waistline is still trim. That's it, I thought. I leash her at Halsted and we bypass McGuane Park, jogging - jogging, I say, since I never do that - to Bosley. She does her business, we stop at Bridgeport Coffee House for my mocha and the regulars cooing, "Aw, she's such a sweet dog." Walking west on 31st, I run into new homeowner Pete Downes, who, as I write this, is not enjoying the Northwestern homecoming game as a Michigan State grad. He was having his newly rebuilt transmission inspected, and we chatted briefly. Once home, I give Emmy a half-cup of dry food and a biscuit. No more strips of extra crispy turkey bacon for her. No more bacon strips and junk dog food. It's all lean for my pretty pit bull.
So it's become official. I'm not the only one in the house committed to healthier eating. Ironic, since when Sue and I were roommates, I would feed her dog, Camille, everything from peanut butter to giardinera relish on a whim. Now that I have a dog, I can understand why Sue was apopletic about it at the time. I just hope Emmy realizes that I'm doing this for the both of us.