Too much wrong advice

I have a sister who breezes into town two or three times a year and freely dispenses advice. This, of course, is akin to going to the Graduate School of Mama.

Though I knew better — I swear I did — I took a piece of that advice the last time she floated in. She took one look at Dixie Dew, whose stomach is close to dragging the ground, and pronounced her “fat because she doesn’t get enough to eat.”

That should have been my first clue that I was dealing with a Mama clone. Whenever Dew stays with Mama while I’m out of town and I call to check on the baby, her food festival ally says, “That poor thing’s starving to death. Do you ever feed her?”

I think that one look at Dixie Dew will adequately dispute that.

However, I had a momentary brain lapse so I actually began to listen to this sister who explained that Dew’s metabolism has slowed down. I reasoned that could be true because Mama has claimed the same thing about herself for years. And Mama, I have to admit, eats like a bird.

Though Dew’s vet doesn’t believe it, I do severely limit her food: a small amount in the morning and a small amount in the evening. The problem comes when I travel and she stays with her maw-maw. When my publisher wanted to send me on a six-week-long book tour across the United States, I almost panicked.

“But you don’t understand,” I said to the publicists. “I can’t be gone that long. Dixie Dew will die before I get home from all of that food my mama will force her to eat. She could very well just swell up and burst.”

They didn’t understand the gravity of the situation but they did finally agree to weekly flights home so I could do glucose and cholesterol testings on Dixie Dew.

I guess it was my desperation that drove me to listen to Mama Number Two’s advice. I’ve worked hard to coax Dew into weight loss. Or maybe I felt that I should be gracious for once and really take her advice, instead of nodding politely and pretending that I might.

“Make sure she has dry dog food in her bowl all day,” she continued. “If she has enough food, she won’t overeat. What’s happening now is she knows she’ll only get to eat twice so she’s overeating. She afraid she’s going to starve.”

In my defense, I would also like to say that I had just flown home from a 16-hour whirlwind trip to New York. I was weary. My resistance was low.

Of course, it was after a good night’s sleep that I did follow the advice so I can’t really use that for an excuse.

The next morning, I filled her bowl with dry dog food and she gulped it down happily, pleased that her mama had finally come to her senses about proportions. I kept the bowl filled with food throughout the day and guess what happened?

Dixie Dew ate from sun-up to sundown. It was a non-stop feast fit for ancient kings.

What was I thinking?

She ate so much that she finally dragged herself to bed and, bloated with Purina, fell asleep.

I wonder about my good sense sometimes. Wonder if I have any. After all, why would I need advice from my sister on how to make Dew fat? I already have Mama for that kind of help.

And, if you could see Dixie Dew, you’d know what a BIG help that Mama is.