I asked Scott to take this photo because it says so much about our life.
In the forefront is Dr. Gordon J. Blackstone, doctor of puppy philosophy, who is on the mend after being diagnosed with hypothyroidism. Before the diagnosis, Gordie didn't know where he was. He couldn't walk and would fall down the stairs. And he pooped on my bed.
It's been less than six weeks, and he still poops on the bed in the evening, but less so. It know it's TMI, but he is a steady solid pooper so it's not hard to pick up. If it gets any worse, we'll put a diaper on him.
We've just come to accept this as part of his dotage. Could be worse. He could be peeing in the bed.
On all other counts, Gordie has improved by leaps and bounds.
We thought he was bound for the Green Mile, but he's astounded us once again.
Every time he bounces back, I marvel at this little dog's capacity to beat the odds.
He's come to be known as the Divine Pug in our house.
People come from all corners of the world to worship, to bathe in his aura.
I kid, but he's a pretty cool dude.
The bike in the background belongs to Scott.
As you can see, Scott's given up exercise preferring to quaff ales and chase his steak with a few Single Malts. That brought him up to 260 pounds and gave him the double face. I worry that he's starting to look like the Little Budda you get with the strong mixed drink at Ruby Foos.
I'm not much better.
I'm still an exercise machine, but I've been on a bit of a booze cruise myself this summer. Add to that a steady diet of summer corn, potatoes and garlic bread, well, you know the drill.
In spite of a four day a week gym schedule, I have ballooned back to 220 pounds.
Between Scott and I, we weigh as much as Gentle Ben. No kidding. I looked it up.
When we got married five years ago, we sent out wedding invitations with Shrek carrying Fiona over the threshold. It was a joke but there was nothing funny about it.
I do not like the fact I look like an ogress.
Lately, I've had flashbacks to an interview I did with an emergency doctor a couple of years back about the leading causes of injury for seniors. Mostly, they end up in the ER because they've fallen.
I asked him about obese seniors.
"What about them?"
"Does obesity influence a senior's chance of falling?"
"I don't know," he said. "We don't see many obese seniors in the ER. Most of them die before they reach that age."
Holy shit, I thought. I knew he was right.
Scott and I are both 57 and it's time to make a change -- again.
So after much bugging, I've got Scott engaged in a new lifestyle regime based on Chris Powell's highly successful program for extreme weight loss. Fact is, we both have to lose 50 pounds.
So it's back to the gym for Scott and onto a program of carb cycling for me.
Our goal is to lose a combined 100 pounds before Marissa and Jeff get married in a year or so.
Shrek and Fiona will not be at the wedding, not if we can help it.
We can do that.
I'm sure we can.
If Gordie can beat the odds, so can we.
This photo is a sign from the Divine Pug.
Get moving -- or else.