By Anne Sullivan
““Do you think I’m fat?” Sylvia asked.
Though it was early morning, I was fully aware that this was a loaded question. As I stared at Sylvia’s rotund body stuffed into her inside dogbed, I realized that tears could well be the result of a totally honest answer.
“Why do you ask?” I played for time, hoping to distract her.
“Well,” said Sylvia, taking a deep breath, “when we were watching the President’s State of the Union Address the other night, he introduced his wife, Michelle Obama, and said she was working against obese children.”
“I think what he meant was that she was against obesity in children, not against the children themselves.”
“Oh. Well, do you think I’m fat?” Sylvia asked again, pinning me with her eyes.
“I suppose you and I could both afford to lose a pound or two,” I replied in as neutral a voice as I could muster.
“Oh, I see,” said Sylvia, plunking herself down with her back to me.
Seeking to change the subject, I asked, “Did anything else about President Obama’s speech strike you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, something did.” She sat up and looked at me to say, “President Obama talked a lot about people, about what they had done, what they should do and how they were going to work together. BUT he never said a word about dogs. Didn’t he know that millions of dogs all over America were listening to his speech? Come to think of it, I didn’t see Bo in the audience. Wasn’t he invited?”
“I shouldn’t think so. I doubt if even Fala went to President Roosevelt’s speeches.”
“I’ll bet he went to his Fireside Chats. And what about that dog of Nixon’s? Anyhow a little thing like not being invited shouldn’t have stopped Bo. It didn’t stop that silly couple that wanted to be on a Reality show from going to the Obamas’ State Party last month. Bo could have disguised himself and gotten through security easily.”
“Maybe Bo didn’t want to hear the speech. After all, he’s just a puppy,” I pointed out. “He might have found it boring.”
“It’s never too soon to get serious about life and keep abreast of what’s going on in the world,” proclaimed Good Citizen Sylvia.
“You might tell that to Gordo,” I said, looking out the window to see my calico cat bumping in and out of snowdrifts with no visible purpose in mind.
Oddly enough Sylvia defended Gordo. “He has the disadvantage of not being allowed in the house because of your allergy so he can’t watch TV. You could, of course, fix him up with a small TV in his apartment under the house.”
“I think not. He’d probably watch junk and soap operas and then I’d have to take his TV privileges away from him.”
Sylvia was silent after this for so long I was sure she was asleep. I used the time to enjoy reading one of the books I’d received for Christmas.
Like a Jack-in-the-Box Sylvia’s head suddenly popped out of her bed. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you think I’m too fat?”
“That’s something I don’t spend much time thinking about,” I said from behind my book. “I’m much to busy for that. I need to study. I have a test in Fire Class tomorrow.”
“Coward,” whispered Sylvia, followed by, “And, now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to go out and bark.”
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment