Don't call me a runt

Tomorrow Madison will be one. H-Mom had to go pick up a new six-month box of Advantix and she put Madison on the scale at the vet's office.

Sixty four point 3 pounds.

That's her one-year-old weight.

Hmmmm, she's IS on the little side, isn't she, commented Man-dad.

A little runty, responded H-Mom. An athlete, a dancer, a lean schnauzer, not quite so giant.

Maybe she needs more food, said Man-dad.

But she is not hungry, countered H-Mom. I'll give a bit more, but she leaves a bit in her bowl as it is.

I bet if she didn't go to the dog park for a month, she would gain weight, Man-dad observed.

Not a great idea, H-Mom interjected.

Well, who you calling "runty?"

Any girl who can sprawl across the queen-size Stearns and Foster like Madison deserves better than "runty." She makes the bed look little.

(H-Mom is distressed that the bed looks sloppy. This is Madison's "oversheet" though ... so that she can take a good nap after the dog park.)

H-Mom is in the kitchen this afternoon, working on something.

Put some extra calories in those, would you?