Please forgive me, my little Jack. The squirming long puppy who once burrowed under my Lovely Lady-Mullet and around the back of my neck when I'd hold you up on my shoulder the week you first came to live with us. I didn't mean anything by it. Those words just slipped out. It was not intentional. Not meant to hurt your feelings. Not even a crass statement such as when the UPS lady blurted it out while carrying a box to the Mansion porch.
"Look at you! You're so FAT!"
So sorry, Jack. You are stocky! Not fat. Husky, even. Like your red heeler half. They are strong dogs with wide chests. Not whippet-thin. And of course your dachshund half puts you low to the ground, on those short legs. So when I look down on you, the perspective makes you look wide. You are not obese. I'm not calling Dr. Nowzaradan for a consult.
Yes, I am sorry I said that about my little Jack. Even though he DOES look larger than he did last week. He does not carry extra weight well.
I figured the special meatball treats that The Pony bought for me, which turned out to be DOG treats, must be very filling. They are dense. It takes Jack a few minutes to eat his. Several bites, as the meatball crumbles. Even my Sweet, Sweet Juno has to chew hers, and not wolf it down in one gulp. She is not a dainty eater by any means.
So convinced of the calorie density of these meatballs, I have been giving Jack the smallest one in my hand, and giving Juno TWO of them, because she looks frail in comparison, and she's a bigger dog.
Well. Jack is definitely a pound or two heavier. He's like an overstuffed sausage. And now Farmer H, who agreed that Jack was looking bigger, has solved the mystery.
"I know why your Jack is getting fat! He's eating baby rabbits!"
"I seen him. Just now. He came down the driveway with one in his mouth. Got is somewhere up there in our yard, or the other Jack's field. It was hanging out both sides of his mouth. About as big as my Mountain Dew bottle."
That explains it. Not the two meatballs a day, or the slice of bread when I don't give the meatballs, or the parts of the treat that Copper Jack doesn't eat fast enough, and my little Jack pounces on like an eel darting out of an underwater crevice to steal.
Jack's a working dog by both half-pedigrees. I'm pretty sure it's the badger-hunting dachshund half the makes chasing and killing the rabbits so desirable. I'm pretty sure he's not rounding up rabbits to move somewhere else.