The mistress has put my master on a new diet. He had asked her to let him know if his belly ever got as big as a neighbour's and it had. She hadn't even finished reading the explanatory book before she started him on it. I joked he should skip to the end of the book to see if he survives. It didn't sound very healthy. Eggs and bacon for breakfast, salad and soup for lunch and lots of meat and veg for dinner. But no bread, cereal, potatoes, fruit or snacks are allowed.
He's been following it but he's not happy. He's been complaining about being hungry and weak, but really he's just suffering sweetie withdrawal. He's not used to having an empty stomach. He compared his situation to that of being a child again, having to ask permission to get a biscuit but always being refused. "But I'm hungry!" he would whine.
Pah! What about me? I don't think they considered the full implications of his diet when they started it. I survive on his scraps: crusts of toast, luncheon meat, nibbles from biscuits and cakes. My sad eyes could always persuade him to save me a portion. I was doing my bit to watch his weight. But now he covets every crumb, every slither of fatty bacon, every lick of the natural yoghurt pot. I get nothing. It's not fair.
I think I'll write my own book, the Figbane Diet, and download it onto her Kindle. It will involve lots of dog walking and ball throwing and giving equal shares of your dinner to your dog. The dog won't get fatter because of the extra exercise and as the owner will be on half meals they'll lose weight. Amazon bestseller list, here I come...