Goddamn my parents feed their dogs too much.
I was going to say. . . . But, to be fair, it's hard to keep a spayed lady slim.
Ginger reminds me very much of two of the best dogs in the world (not the nicest --that accolade still goes to Bandit; no matter what uta/Julie says, nicest does not automatically equal best): Snoopy, the dog I grew up with, and Katie, who died in 2000 at the age of 16. Both were wonderful, and Snoopy, at least, was very fat.
I hate it when people overfeed their beasts. It's just another form of animal cruelty, yet so many people can't resist. Certainly, my parents are guilty of it. In 1996, for example, they took care of my three cats for six months, and when I finally reclaimed my beasts, they were huge (actually, I only got two of them back; my parents stole my lovely Rhodie, who was sort of a gray-and-white version of Goomba). Mary looked particularly grotesque: she was one of those very slim ladies--a very dramatically marked calico with the build and yowl of a Siamese--and, fat, she looked most unnatural.
