It was Friday, 11 March, 2011, and Mr. Digby the Australian Silky Terrier aka The Terrorist aka The Thief aka Too Smart for His Own Good went on a diet! On that date, he was groomed and weighed 2 pounds over his ideal weight of 14 pounds. That’s a lot for such a little dude but he carried it well, according to the vet. Of course, it’s winter and we tend to put on a few – to stay warm, right? In the case of a dog, that’s actually true, so that they can survive the elements. In fact, the groomer said that Mr. Digby’s combo Cairn-Yorkie coat was perfect for the weather, unlike the 4 Yorkies she had groomed earlier in the day – they were fine-haired, shivery little things.
I had started putting Mr. D, as I call him, outside for longer periods of time beginning in late September to boost up his upcoming winter coat. Obviously, it worked because prior to grooming he looked like some unkempt cave-dweller who hadn’t seen a bath and a brush in ages.
Action was taken that very evening, once Mr. D and I got back from the city. I didn’t actually put him on a diet – he gets ¼ cup of food and two halves of 2 different kinds of biscuits at 8a.m and an identical portion of food at 6p.m. – if he’s not promptly served, he wails at me or throws toys; he can tell time! The lad is seriously demanding, but funny.
What I did do, however, was start a new regimen – I measured out his ¼ cup of food and put it in his treats ball That ball is almost the size of his head and he’s able to pick it up, grabbing on to the indentations, and flinging it. Most often, I’ll put just a few treats in it and he’ll roll it around the house – I’d give it to him mid-afternoon. The rules of the game changed – now, it was going to deliver his daily meals. I wasn’t sure if he’d go for that but what the heck, I’m alpha bitch! He either ate or didn’t. Up to him. That first evening, I filled the ball and he leaped at me, full of anticipation, grabbing the ball and running off with it, to fling it around. As pieces of kibble fell to the floor, he chased after them – I timed the process. From start to finish, it took him a full ½ hour to empty the ball. That’s one ½ hour of exercise down! I had put the 2 biscuit halves in his food bowl in the kitchen. He ran out to get one, ran back to the hand-hooked rug in the hall way between my bedroom and the guest room, to eat the biscuit. Then, he made a mad dash to the kitchen to fetch the other and similarly dispose of it. The food in treats ball was a success.
The next morning, again I fill the ball and dispensed biscuit halves. Again, it took him ½ hour to finish his breakfast; likewise, dinner. This weight reduction method may work out well after all.
The following morning, the third, at the appointed hour I left the online reading of my morning papers over coffee to fill Mr. D’s meal ball (had to change the name). I called him to ‘come, get breakfast!’ – he knows several phrases, whether it’s by intonation or actual words, who can be sure, though, he is a terrier, and they’re very intelligent. He came barreling into the kitchen from the living room sliding through the dining room and almost slamming into the a little storage unit at the edge of the counter– that little fellow sure loves to eat. I looked around for the ball; wasn’t in the kitchen. Wandered through to the office/tv room – not there. Travelled in sock feet to the far end of the house, with Mr. Digby a few paces behind, rather like Prince Philip; normally, he bolts in front of me. I think he knew what I was looking for the whole time! Not in the living room, which is carpeted; on hands and knees, I looked under a table here, a table there, with the dog closing up the rear, figuratively and literally! Using the sofa, I pushed myself to an upright position and shuffled through to my bedroom which is also carpeted; again on hands and knees, looking around the bed, with the dog ‘helping’. No ‘meal ball’. Then, crossing through the carpeted hallway it was on to the guest room, similarly carpeted.
Down on all fours I go, looking for the ball – nada. I went back to the bedroom for another look. Nothing. Finally, I said ‘screw this!’ and got up and went downstairs to the den to put wood in the stove. Finally, I heard it – the sound of the ‘meal ball’ being flung against a wall in my bedroom above my head. Then I laughed right out loud when I saw Mr. Digby staring down at me through the floor grate, with ball in mouth. Earlier, while I had been searching on my hands and knees in one room, Mr. Digby was moving the blasted ball – hiding it! I wasted no time in getting back upstairs before he spirited the ball away yet again. I swear when I met up with him, he was laughing at me! I grabbed up the ball, filled it with his breakfast and went about my morning. When evening came, and it was soon time for his dinner, I had picked up the ball well in advance so he’d not have a chance to abscond with it again.
Fast forward to 2017 — in typical terrier fashion, Mr. Digby is much like my previous canine companions – perpetually stuck in the ‘terrible 2’s’ though he’s 14 years old now. His kibble is still dispensed in the food ball but now he has another ‘training/exercise’ tool, an 8 year old Maltese adopted two years ago. They’re having a grand time and burning a heck of a lot of calories together. Love in bloom is good for body and soul!
Carla MacInnis Rockwell is a freelance writer and disability rights advocate living outside Fredericton, NB with her aging Australian silky terrier and a rambunctious Maltese. She can be reached via email at carmacrockwell@xplornet.ca
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