I was standing in line at the supermarket the other day, holding a 40-pound bag of Golden Paw dog chow, when the woman behind me asked, “Do you have a dog?”
Now, I could’ve just said yes. I could’ve smiled politely and moved on with my life. But no — I decided to tell her the truth. Or at least, the truth as I saw it.
“No ma’am,” I said. “I’m starting the Dog Food Diet again.”
She blinked. “The what?”
“The Dog Food Diet,” I repeated. “You see, last time I tried it, I lost 50 pounds. It’s nutritionally complete, low in sugar, and conveniently packaged. I just load my pockets with kibble and eat a nugget every time I feel hungry. No cooking, no counting calories. Just crunch and go.”
By now, the cashier had stopped scanning. The guy behind her leaned in. The produce clerk was pretending to rearrange bananas just to stay close.
“But I probably shouldn’t,” I continued. “Last time I ended up in the hospital.”
Her eyes widened. “Poisoned?”
“No,” I said. “I stepped off a curb to sniff a beagle’s scent trail and got hit by a car.”
She gasped. The guy behind her dropped his energy drink. The cashier whispered, “Oh my God.”
“I woke up in the ICU with tubes in places I didn’t know I had,” I said. “But I looked great. Lean. Glossy coat. Minimal shedding. Nurses did complain I was panting a lot but they liked they could scratch under my chin and calm me down.”
The woman clutched her purse like I might bark at any moment.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’m giving it another go. I’ve got a wedding next month and the tux doesn’t stretch.”
She didn’t say another word. Just backed away slowly like I might lunge for her handbag and chew the strap.
As I headed for the door, I heard the guy behind her say, “I think I’m gonna try it.”
I paused. “Dry kibble’s good for grazing,” I said. “But if you want a full meal experience, go canned.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Like stew?”
“Exactly,” I said. “Beef and gravy, chicken and rice — they’ve got options. Just don’t microwave it in the can unless you want to explain things to the fire department.”
“What about those little foil packs?” he asked.
“Ah, the gourmet boosters,” I said. “Perfect over pasta or rice. Adds flavor, texture, and a certain je ne sais woof.”
He looked inspired. “I could meal prep with those.”
“Just stay away from the cat brands,” I warned. “You start eating those, and next thing you know, you’re climbing into tight boxes and chasing laser dots across the living room.”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“My cousin tried it,” I said. “Family used a laser pointer to mess with him. He knocked over a lamp, two chairs, and the Christmas tree before they got bored.”
“Did he stop?”
“Eventually. But he still naps in the laundry basket and refuses to come when called.”
The guy looked down at his cart, then back at me. “You’ve changed my life.”
“I know,” I said. “Just remember: if you start licking your own elbow, it’s time to switch back to human food.”
Note: The original story base has been around for a long time. Of course, I decided to add some more twists.