Dear Oscar, Congratulations on your selection as Vermont Sports Magazine's "Wagger Athlete of the month." Will your fame affect your life? -- A Fan

Dear Fan, Thanks for reading the magazine -- it was a fine piece of reporting (with a captivating subject, if I do say myself). Click here to read the interview online. Also, don't miss the informative article by my human in the same issue (the annual April "dog" issue) about running with your dog.

As for how the fame will affect my life, it shouldn't -- except for the usual obligatory phone interviews and tour of the national talk show circuit. Maybe some cameo appearances in some TV sitcoms, you know the sort of thing. Otherwise, I'll be running, hiking, and playing just like usual.

Photo: here I am waiting for my humans on a hike last weekend. Photo courtesy of Ruth!

Your friend, Oscar

Weight Loss

Well, it's official. At my vet appointment last week, the backup vet (Dr. Dan, my usual vet, had the day off) proclaimed that I was "overweight."

My human was aghast. "Overweight?" he said. "Do you realize how far this dog runs?" She didn't, but it didn't matter. She pointed to my sides, where my ribs were not visible. One should, she explained, be able to feel a dog's ribs easily when one rubs a dog's sides. My ribs were in there, but you really had to press to feel them.

I didn't mind all the rubbing, but I did mind what came next. "Are we over-feeding him?" my human asked.

Whoa there, buddy! Let's not get carried away! We are talking about winter fat; it will disappear after about 2 weeks of spring-time activity. It's like I've been saying all along: it's not about feeding the dog less. It's about feeding him more, and then letting him run around more.

"Less" is not the answer. "More" is!

A Tale of Two Baths

Okay, I'd like to vent a little something that has been frustrating me lately. Two times in the last three weeks-- count them, twice! -- when I have returned to the house after little adventures in the woods behind our house, my humans have greeted me by smelling me and immediately forcing me to take a (gasp) sponge bath. The humiliation! The shame!

The good news in this story is, with the great maturity I have demonstrated in this third year of my existence, they do let me cruise around a little bit as long as I wear a collar with their contact information and my bell (see photo). As long as I return within what they consider a reasonable amount of time (and believe me, in their minds "reasonable" means "brief"), they're fine.

Again, that's the good news. Meanwhile, back to the baths. Yes, prior to both, I did roll in something dead. And so what if I did? Is a little rotten raccoon so bad? They just don't get it, you know? Read my lips: I... don't... mind... smelling... like... carrion!

Believe me, I'd rather smell like dead coyote than be subjected to a bath. And, if you don't mind me saying, the fresh sheets on their (read: "my") bed could certainly use a little deadening up. Sheesh. What does a dog have to do to get through to people? Helloooo... I do not like your baths, okay? Brother!