I am referring to the Beagle.
He's large.
And he's in charge.
Typically, winter weight is something the Beagle packs on after his endless days of running around his kingdom and neighborhood wan due to the harsh Midwest winters we endure. By May Day, usually, he's looking more and more svelte, a product of the return of sunshine, the melting of snow-pack, and the incline of the thermometer.
But this year, he is extra winter-weighted. Neighbors have commented when they've seen us on walks through the puddles. My Dad commented two weeks ago. The aunties, randomly stopping to visit, have commented. Dinner guests and their children, all point and laugh at my poor, fat Beagle dog.
And I think I know what's going on here.
Take the heart of our two-year-old daughter, bigger than the sun, and her affinity for sharing what she's been given, no matter the recipient. But, in most cases, I am assuming her recipient has a tail. And long, brown ears. And turtle breath. And aside from raw potatoes, cold carrots, and errant pieces of fresh garlic, there is nothing this dog won't eat.
As we continue to battle the bulge, I have to find a way to make the lil' dude understand it's not OK to share her goods with her furry companion.
Sharing with people: good. Sharing with puppies: bad.
And too bad, what, with Easter right around the corner.
The Beagle? Totally loves him some jellybeans.
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