Max wasn’t obese per se. The fact that the old woman dumped a full package of cooked bacon into his bowl every morning, along with a handful of dry dogfood didn’t help, but he could still, with a good sprint, put the fear of Man into any rabbit or squirrel he caught sight of in the nearby park.

Still, Max could feel the fat build up in his arteries like the stuffing of the Santa squeaky toys he demolished every holiday. He didn’t have words for this feeling, of course. But he knew damn well he had to lay off the sweets until he could work off some of the extra baggage he was carrying around.

A plan to tackle this problem slowly started building in his mind. If he had other dogs to talk to they would’ve said he was crazy for even thinking it.