Saturday soon rolled around and with it, time for Ted’s first session at Waggy Weight Loss.
Saskia was at her father’s for the weekend and Liz had taken advantage of her child-free status to go out with Corinne on Friday night. Because her twins were still at primary school, Corinne did not get out very often, which meant that when she did, she liked to go especially wild. Liz could vaguely recall the first of at least four tequila slammers. Maybe six. Then there was the wine to ‘wash the tequila down’. It was little wonder that the morning after, her mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage. The last thing she wanted to do was get up and take Ted to his doggy weight loss club.
Unfortunately, Liz knew that she had to. It was her fault Ted had managed to get so overweight, after all. Though he seemed happy, she wanted him to be healthy too. Added to that, on Friday, she’d received an email from Nurse Van Niekerk at the veterinary surgery telling her that attendance was now mandatory if she wanted Ted to remain one of Dr Thomas’s patients. The thought of finding Ted another vet filled Liz with the same kind of dread that had kept her dental patients loyal to her boss Vince during the delirium tremens years.
Liz hauled herself out of bed but before she got dressed she decided to give Ted a preliminary weigh-in. If the figure was truly awful she would stay home and claim she had a bug. It wouldn’t sound like a lie; there was one going round. She really didn’t need another lecture with her hangover going on.
She took the bathroom scales downstairs. First she stood on them by herself and made a note of the number. That in itself was not so good but nothing that a week on the 5:2 diet couldn’t fix. Or a week on the vomiting bug. Liz always lived in hope. Then she picked up Ted and stood on the scales with him in her arms. That number minus the first number et voila! Ted’s weight.
Oh dear. It appeared that Ted had actually put on a couple of ounces since the cake-mix debacle. He certainly felt heavier than Liz had expected. She put him down and did the sums. Then Liz deducted half a pound for her pyjamas. That was better. Now Ted was doing well.
‘Come on,’ she said to him. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
The surgery was packed for Waggy Weight Loss. Liz couldn’t get a space in the car park so she had to park on the street and walk three blocks.
‘I suppose we need the exercise,’ she said to Ted.
Liz would never have guessed that so many of the local dogs shared Ted’s obesity battle. Not that they looked especially unhappy about it. The assembled dogs were completely oblivious to the social stigma of their condition. The assembled owners on the other hand were all too aware and expecting a lecture to boot. They looked anxious. Liz was reminded of the tension in the corridor outside the headmaster’s office at her comprehensive school, where students waited on plastic chairs to be called in and admonished.
Liz couldn’t find a spare plastic chair that morning so she leaned against the wall with Ted at her feet and tried to look casual.
‘Is this your first time?’ a middle-aged woman with a fancy chignon, who was perching on one of those walking-stick stools, asked her. She had a spherical French bulldog on her lap.
‘It is. What’s it like? Do we have to get weighed too?’
The woman didn’t laugh. She fondled her little bulldog’s velvety black ears. ‘This is the third time we’ve been asked to sign up. It’s just so humiliating. I feel like such a bad mother for getting her into this situation in the first place. Coco dreads having to get on the scales in front of everybody else.’
Liz didn’t think Coco looked all that bothered. She was busy snuffling for treats in ‘Mummy’s’ Chanel-style handbag. Meanwhile, Ted was acquainting himself with a huge golden Labrador’s bum.
‘Coco tries so hard,’ the woman on the walking stick continued. ‘She eats next to nothing and she exercises all the time. She’s always so disheartened when the scales don’t budge an ounce. I’ve tried to explain to her that it isn’t her fault. She’s the way she is because of genetics. But people can be so cruel, can’t they?’
‘They can.’ Liz tried to lighten the mood. ‘That’s a nice name, Coco,’ she said.
‘For Coco Chanel,’ the woman explained. Hence the handbag. ‘She was also small, plucky and French.’
‘Yes,’ said Liz. She imagined this canine Coco with a string of faux pearls. It might have looked good against her fur.
‘And yours?’ the woman asked.
‘Liz.’
The woman looked confused. ‘But he’s a boy.’
‘Oh. You mean his name. Ted. After Theodore Roosevelt.’
Liz made that up on the spot. Ted was actually called Ted after the stuffed blue bear Saskia had loved as a toddler. They weren’t great at original names in the Chandler household. The unfortunate hamster that preceded Ted had been called ‘Hammy’. He died when Saskia left the door to his cage open and he met next door’s cat.
‘It’s so important to give animals a proper name, don’t you think?’ The woman leaned towards Liz to indicate that Liz should probably duck down to hear what she had to say next. ‘That Cockapoo over there is called Twinkle.’ Coco’s owner wrinkled her nose in disapproval. ‘Can you imagine what he feels like when they’re calling for him in the playground?’
‘It must be terrible,’ said Liz.
Liz thought Twinkle had bigger problems than his name. He needed a haircut for a start. His Cockapoo curls were hanging all over his eyes and he kept bumping into his owner’s knees and barking indiscriminately. Probably confused by the fact that he couldn’t see anything.
At least Ted wasn’t much of a barker. That was a bone of contention, actually, since the unfortunate occasion when he didn’t bark while someone was stealing one of Ian’s beloved mountain bikes out of their garage. At the time, Liz joined Ian in wondering how they’d come to have such a useless guard dog. Now she wondered whether Ted had actually known that Ian was a philandering knobhead and decided that his bicycle was fair game. Yes. Ted was no idiot. Not like the Chihuahua on the other side of the room who was yapping and turning in circles. Liz wouldn’t have imagined a Chihuahua at Waggy Weight Loss but this one was as round as a gourmet Scotch egg on four Twiglets. He was definitely not at his fighting weight.
At ten o’clock on the dot, the session officially began.
Nurse Van Niekerk was the first veterinary professional to appear. She handed out forms to each of the owners in attendance.
‘Please fill in as much as you possibly can. It will help us to get a better idea of your animal’s eating habits and the behaviours and situations that trigger them.’
The patients were dogs. Surely ‘seeing food’ was what triggered their eating? But Mrs Coco was already scribbling down ‘stress, anxiety and low self-esteem’ on Coco’s chart. Mrs Coco had been to Waggy Weight Loss before. Was this the kind of stuff they wanted?
‘Has Ted got low self-esteem?’ Liz asked herself. She hoped not. Thanks to Ian, Liz had enough low self-esteem for the pair of them. She wondered if she should put that Ted’s bad eating habits had become a problem after the break-up of his family. Yes. Blame Ian. That would be satisfying. But what if they had to read what they’d written out loud? There might be someone in the room who knew Ian. Or Brittney. Liz put: ‘No obvious triggers. Basically, if he sees food he eats it.’
Liz finished filling in Ted’s chart in about half a minute. Meanwhile, Mrs Coco and many of the other ‘mums and dads’ seemed to be writing short essays. That made Liz nervous. Was she already not taking it seriously enough? She wanted Dr Thomas to know that his concerns had not fallen on deaf ears.
At last, Nurse Van Niekerk began to chivvy people along. She took Liz’s form, glanced at it and said, ‘Thank you.’ She didn’t seem obviously unimpressed by Liz’s brevity.
‘OK, everybody. Some of you have been here before. What is this, Coco? Your fifth time here?’
‘Third,’ said Mrs Coco defensively.
‘Third,’ Nurse Van Niekerk repeated in a tone that hin
ted at amusement. ‘Well, you at least know the ropes. And Twinkle. It’s good to see you again. Time for a fringe trim, I think, Mr Twinkle,’ Nurse Van Niekerk addressed Twinkle’s ‘dad’.
Mr Twinkle, Liz mused. That was why it was a good idea to give your dog a half-decent name.
‘Let’s just go around the room and introduce ourselves. I’m Nurse Van Niekerk as you know. We’ve already met Coco and Twinkle. Chihuahua Daddy, let’s start with you.’
‘This is Hercules,’ Chihuahua Daddy introduced the walking Scotch egg. ‘He’s actually my wife’s dog.’ It was clearly important to him that everybody understood that.
Ted’s friend the golden Labrador was called Monty. The King Charles Spaniel, whose stomach almost dragged along the ground, was called Rex. Twinkle’s near twin, another Cockapoo with a slightly better trim, was called Biscuit.
Mrs Coco disapproved. ‘How is he meant to avoid getting unhealthy eating habits when Biscuit is all that he hears?’
Nurse Van Niekerk came to Liz at last.
‘This is Ted,’ said Liz.
Ted wagged his tail at the sound of his name.
‘Thank you, Mrs Ted.’
‘Mrs Chandler,’ Liz attempted.
Nurse Van Niekerk ignored her.
‘I’m glad to see you all. Now we’ve done the introductions …’ Nurse Van Niekerk glanced at her watch and then back towards the surgery, ‘I think Doctor Thomas will be ready to join us now.’
A moment later, Dr Evan Thomas strode into the surgery reception area looking like a man who knew he would be played by Hugh Jackman in the story of his life. As befitted the fact that it was a Saturday, he was dressed in casual gear. Liz hadn’t seen him without his sterile green overalls before. Mufti was definitely an improvement. That morning, the vet was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved checked button-down in a rather dashing lilac. The shirtsleeves were rolled up so that they tightly circled his triceps, which were not unimpressive. But then, Liz thought, being a vet was a very physical job. Lifting all those obese dogs onto the table was a workout for a start.
As she considered Dr Thomas’s triceps, Liz’s eyes then naturally drifted down to see whether Dr Thomas’s thighs matched his arms. They did. She half nodded her approval. Which was embarrassing because when she next glanced up, Dr Thomas seemed to be looking at her in a quizzical sort of way. She rearranged her face into the expression she used for when she was attending ‘continuing professional development in dental hygiene’ lectures.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. And owners …’ Dr Thomas quipped.
The humans said ‘Good morning’ back.
‘Thank you for coming along today. I’m very glad to see you’ve made the commitment to your animals’ health. Now, you all know why you’re here. I have met all of you in this surgery before and judged that your pets have a weight problem. I do not bandy the word “obese” about lightly, but trust me, on a human scale, that’s exactly what your animals are.’
Liz felt herself melting back into the wall for shame. Mrs Coco held her dog tightly against her as if to protect her from the nasty man who was possibly denting Coco’s self-esteem.
‘Nurse Van Niekerk has already prepared a chart onto which your dogs’ most recent weights have been plotted. All of you should have been on the diet for at least a week – some of you for longer – so let’s see how you’ve been getting on.’
‘It’s time for the Waggy Weigh-In,’ said Nurse Van Niekerk lightly, in an attempt to make it sound like fun.
‘I hate this bit,’ said Mrs Coco.
‘In alphabetical order,’ said Nurse Van Niekerk. ‘Biscuit?’
The Cockapoo leapt up. So did nearly all of the other dogs, including Ted. Biscuit was clearly a trigger word for most of them.
Biscuit was four hundred grams down.
‘Though I suspect at least three hundred of those grams are due to the haircut,’ Dr Thomas observed.
‘Bruno?’
Doctor Thomas looked around the room. There was no Bruno there. He shook his head and tutted. ‘It’s always the ones who need help the most. Never mind. Coco?’
Mrs Coco put up her hand. ‘Of course, Mrs Coco. This is what? Your fifth time here?’
‘Third,’ said Mrs Coco.
Unlike Nurse Van Niekerk, Doctor Thomas wasn’t having any of it. ‘Come on now, Mrs Coco. Being in denial doesn’t help anyone. Least of all your dog.’
Mrs Coco went bright red. Liz suddenly felt very sorry for her.
‘Put Coco on the scales, Mrs Coco. We haven’t got all day.’
Mrs Coco carefully, reverently, placed Coco on the weighing machine. She looked away and nibbled at her cuticles while Nurse Van Niekerk and Doctor Thomas looked at the figures.
‘Five hundred grams down since the last appointment,’ Nurse Van Niekerk announced after what felt like an X Factor-style pause of doom. Mrs Coco’s face was suddenly wreathed in smiles.
‘See?’ said Dr Thomas. ‘What tough love can do? Good work, Mrs Coco. Good work.’
Liz gave Mrs Coco the thumbs up. At least Dr Thomas was in the habit of giving praise where it was due.
‘Who’s next? Hercules?’
The Scotch egg was up. Mr Hercules looked suitably embarrassed as Hercules tipped the scales at a full two hundred and fifty grams over his week one target.
‘Have you really been sticking to the diet?’ Dr Thomas asked.
‘I have,’ said Mr Hercules. ‘But I can’t be sure about my wife. He only has to look at her and he gets whatever he wants. Pity that never worked for me.’
‘Never mind,’ said Dr Thomas. He patted Mr Hercules on the shoulder. ‘We’re just at the beginning here. You keep on setting an example for the rest of the family. Remind them that if they really love this dog, they shouldn’t indulge him.’
‘I’m doing my best, Dr Thomas.’
‘Keep it up. Monty?’
The Labrador bounded into the middle of the room. Well, bounded is perhaps too light a word. He moved like a bouncing bomb heading for a dam.
‘Looking good,’ Dr Thomas said. ‘Let’s see if it’s just because you’re wearing a particularly slimming collar.’
But no, Monty had lost a whole kilo since he was put on the diet.
‘Let’s give him a round of applause,’ Dr Thomas said.
‘Rex?’ Nurse Van Niekerk called. The spaniel and owner waddled forward. Nurse Van Niekerk reminded Dr Thomas of just how heavy Rex had been when they last saw him at the surgery.
‘I can already see an improvement,’ Dr Thomas assured Rex’s owner. Liz found it hard to imagine how Rex could have been any worse without morphing into a foot stool.
‘Half a kilo,’ said Nurse Van Niekerk.
Dr Thomas stooped to give Rex a scratch between the ears.
‘Excellent work, my man,’ he said.
Liz knew that she and Ted were next. There was only Twinkle left to be weighed.
‘Ah, Mrs Ted,’ said Dr Thomas.
‘Mrs Chandler …’
Dr Thomas ignored that. ‘It’s very good to see you here. No cake mix and Pringles for Little Ted this week?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Liz. ‘We’ve followed the diet to the letter.’
The chicken curry was mostly pure protein, surely? And chicken was allowed.
‘I’m very glad to hear it. On the scales?’
Ted was busy sniffing at something on the floor. Liz tried to nudge him forward with her foot. He didn’t move. Dr Thomas wasn’t prepared to wait around. He bent down and lifted Ted up.
‘Hmmm,’ he said as he did so. That didn’t sound good at all.
Nurse Van Niekerk looked at the number on the scales then she looked at the number on her spreadsheet. She tapped figures into the calculator on her iPhone. She didn’t have to shake her head for Liz to know what was coming.
‘He’s up,’ Nurse Van Niekerk confirmed. ‘Five hundred.’
‘That’s half a bag of sugar,’ Dr Thomas pointed out.
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‘He had a big drink of water before we came here,’ Liz protested. ‘If I could just take him out into the car park for a pee …’
Dr Thomas shook his head. ‘You’ve got to take this seriously, Mrs Ted. Stick to the diet. No titbits. More walks. Advice that works just as well for us humans as for our pets.’
Liz was sure Dr Thomas’s advice was pointed. She opened her mouth to protest but she’d already been dismissed.
‘Twinkle!’
‘How could you do this to me?’ she muttered in Ted’s direction.
‘If Ted had autonomy, he would make better choices for himself.’ Dr Thomas had heard her aside and Liz was right back to the cake-mix evening.
‘Thank you,’ Liz scooped Ted up, making sure to pretend it was hardly any effort, and went back to her place by the wall.
At least Twinkle failed the weigh-in too.
‘OK, everybody. We’ll see you next week. Keep the faith. You’re all going to get to that target weight. I know it.’
Dr Thomas made a fist and gave a little gesture that was meant to represent tenacity and willpower, Liz supposed.
‘Git,’ she muttered.
Mrs Coco followed Liz out of the surgery. They paused on the wheelchair ramp while Mrs Coco loaded Coco into a pushchair.
‘She gets very tired. It’s all the emotion.’
‘Of course. Doctor Thomas is … well, he’s quite harsh, isn’t he?’
‘But it comes from a place of love,’ said Mrs Coco. ‘Sometimes I have to remind myself of that. Nothing matters to him more than the patients in his care. He truly is an animal lover.’
He certainly didn’t seem to have much time for humans, Liz reflected.
‘I’d better get Coco home,’ said Mrs Coco. ‘She has to have a nap before lunch.’
Coco made a strange sort of groan.
‘What’s that, sweetheart? Oh, I know. It’s been a very stressful morning.’ Mrs Coco reached into her handbag and brought out a bag of doggy chocs. ‘Here you are, my lovely little lady. I think you deserve one of these.’
‘Mrs Coco!’ came a voice that made both Mrs Coco and Liz jump out of their skins. ‘I don’t believe doggy chocs are on the Waggy Weight Loss diet sheet.’
The Worst Case Scenario Cookery Club Page 7