So Ruby-Doo the Corgi Pup (we could call her the Queen of the Universe's Crown Jewel) is growing nicely. She's gained a little over three pounds since her last set of puppy shots: up to a shade over seven pounds and beginning to look more and more like a dog. An excruciatingly cute little dog.

Meanwhile, Her Royal Exalted Highness has been putting on weight, too.

Uh oh.

She's been at her ideal weight (around 23 to 25 pounds) since she deigned to move into the Funny Farm, about five years ago. But of late I've noticed she's beginning to look like...well...a tun of beer with legs sticking out. A bratwurst on paws.

This is not good.

My theory to explain said phenomenon posits two causes:

a) Puppy treats. Whenever I give Pup a treat, her Stunning Majesty demands one for herself. In the past, although she's had an occasional manufactured dog treat, normally what I've given her has been a bite of Real Food: a blueberry, a tiny bit of cheese, a string of spaghetti (is THAT funny!).

b) Non-exercising. Before Pup got here, we walked an average of one to two miles a day, as part of my own diet scheme. But since the puppy has arrived, there've been a variety of roadblocks to the daily trek.

First, of course, the puppy demands a lot of attention. It takes away from my work, which means...yes: work expanded to fill the limited time available. When somethin' had to go, it has tended to be the Dog and Human Walk. The consequences are already manifesting themselves: Cassie looks like an overstuffed sock puppet; I'm now floating along at two pounds above my own target weight; and the spavined back and hips are kicking up again.

The non-exercising routine can't be blamed 100% on Pup.

Cassie and I were usually walking after dark, when I don't have to encase my face in sunblock and after most of the work is done. But recently an especially fulminant homeless mentally ill dude has been frequenting the 'hood. And he is One. Scary. Fella.

This poor guy is SO effing crazy that he has periods of not only chatting with his voices but of yelling at them in rage. As in "he creates such a scene the neighbors come out to stare." He uses the alley outside my back gate (through which I have to pass to take out the garbage) as his private loo, so now I get to pick up human mounds as well as dog mounds.

The other day he heard me playing with the dogs in the backyard, and the sound of my voice set him off. He thought he was hearing his mother's voice. Apparently he didn't get along with Mom too well...he went completely BATSH!T. Started screaming at his imagined mother, and stumbled off down the street hollering curses.

Well. As you can imagine, this is not a gent I care to meet in the cool cool cool of the evening.

Yes, I do have a Lady Derringer, and yes, I'm fully capable of using it. But come on. This is a sick guy. He's probably a veteran. I'm really, truly not interested in shooting some poor wretch who's so sick he can't care for himself. So the alternative is not to walk the dog. Or me. Certainly not at night, anyway.

Second problem is the matter of walking Pup, too. Ruby can now walk around the block, and I'd like to get her in the habit of strolling regularly. But this takes up time, which as we know is in increasingly short supply. By the time we get back, I need to get on to the Chore of the Day. As we scribble, I should be grading Eng. 235 papers, dropping errant students out of the District's system, negotiating with the designer for a book cover, and sending out this week's meeting announcement to the membership of the Scottsdale Bidness Assn. As you can see, I'm doing none of the above. 

This morning, though, realizing it's not just me who's getting fat again but Cassie, too, I determined that the Exercise Walk will have to take precedence over paying work. So after breakfast we walked Pup around the block, shot back into the house long enough to lodge Pup in her crate, and went back out for a mile-long perambulation.

That worked pretty well...or so I thought until about three minutes ago, when Pup awoke from a nap and barfed up her breakfast. Possibly we cannot do even a short walk directly after eating. Or possibly it's just the aftermath of yesterday's puppy shots, to which she does not react well.

So I suppose the new routine could be a) feed pup; b) put pup back in her crate; c) walk a mile or two with Cassie (= 20 to 40 minutes); d) walk pup. I'd really rather do it the other way around: pup first, Cassie & me last. But whatever.

It was 9:30 before I got back in the house and settled down to the computer. Not ideal. But on the other hand, getting fat is not ideal, either.