I got excited about weight loss the other day.
We needed to take Max to the vet. A Rottweiler, he's a big old guy. He's going on 12 and weighs in at 106, down a few pounds from his usual 110.
We had been in the front office for a few minutes when in came a rather skittish breed. There was bound to be trouble so we elected to walk over to another part of the office, where we could get some separation. (You Gotta Keep 'Em Separated.)
As we paced back and forth, we spied the electronic scale that the vet uses to weigh animals. Beth says, "Why don't you check your weight?" Well, I wasn't weighted down with heavy blue jeans or boots; I was runnin' light. So it sounded like a good idea even though I had checked my weight about 5 days earlier at the house.
I climbed aboard, and turning to the electronic readout on the wall I was ... well, surprised. At the house I became aware that I was putting on pounds and was approaching my limit. You know, The Limit at which you just have to do something.
"One ninety nine," I exclaimed. Quickly followed -- from me -- was the assessment of "That's not right." It was way too light. And I knew I couldn't have lost that much weight in the few days that had passed since I last weighed.
But I was hopeful. Pitifully hopeful.
Then Beth brought me down to earth. "The scale probably doesn't go over 200 pounds," she guessed. I thought on that for a few seconds and, by gosh, I'll bet she was right. After all, how many pet dogs weigh over 200 pounds?
Deflated, I waited until I got home and stepped gingerly upon the scales. Uh huh. The weight had miraculously reappeared and I slunk back into reality. I had to "Take It To The Limit, One More Time." But now it's time to get serious.
