There was a time when I didn't have to worry about, care about, or think about what I was eating. I could pile in the food, and as long as it wasn't too spicy, I'd survive. I found out rather early in life that I couldn't eat peppers. They flat try to kill me, but I have managed to beat them at their game. I don't touch them, they don't touch me. We have an understanding. However, it has only been recently, perhaps the past few years, that I've paid close attention to what (and how much) I can eat without having to call the ambulance to haul my carcass to the repair shop.
About 13 years ago (dang, that's been a minute), I was taken by ambulance to an Indianapolis hospital with acute indigestion, but I thought I was having a heart attack. It felt really, really bad, and you could never have convinced me at the time that it was just indigestion. I think it was also, if I'm honest, a bout of food poisoning as well. I was at an outdoor BBQ and had some potato salad with mayo - do not do that in the heat. DO NOT DO THAT. I also had two burgers - do not do that either! I have zero understanding today as to why I thought I was so hungry.
That was the first real scare, and I've had two, three more since, but the real issue is the beef. It's the hamburger meat. I have reached an age and a stage where I can no longer eat it. It could be that Alpha gal syndrome; it could be. I have been bitten by any number of Texas brown ticks throughout my life. It could be a real thing, but what I know is that the last two times this happened, I had eaten a larger burger - just one, but I had it with fries, and I know better. I don't need that in my life.
Today, and for the past month or so, I've been listening to my body. I eat a couple of Tums before I eat anything greasy, and I don't eat larger portions anymore -nope, when I start to feel as if my body is about to call it quits, I quit. I am not a fan of riding in the back of the big box with lights and sirens. I am not a fan. I do love the EMTs; they are always so, so, so very nice. I do like them, but not enough to call him regularly to take me for a ride. Nope.
I still eat chicken, pork, and turkey -- and the other day I had a thinly sliced French dip sandwich. I ate it very, very slowly, and as I got to the end, my body said it was done. I didn't eat the last bite. That's why God made dogs. Dogs are there constantly reminding you that you really don't need that last bite. They'll take care of it for you. I have four dogs, so I eat less than what I used to -- and they are pleased. They think I'm making the right choice(s) for my body. They really, really care about me. I can tell.
My body was telling me I needed some really cold, unsweetened iced tea from Burger King today, so I listened. Of course, while I was there, I picked up some food for Laura, and since I was there, yes, I picked up a chicken sandwich for myself. The fries were split. I had a few, and the dogs ate the rest. Again, they don't mind if I'm on a health kick. It makes them feel as if they are useful and attentive. I came to the last bit of the sandwich, literally at half of it, and gave the bread to the dogs and took one more bit of the meat before splitting it with the mutts - I say mutts; Neo is a full-blooded Dachshund.
This was Neo's first time in the lineup, and let me just say, there's a good reason people say Dachshunds are 10-feet tall. That little guy pushed his way through the big dogs, climbing over his Chihuahua brother Kiba, to take the tiny piece of bacon I was offering him. You'd have thought he was capable of breaking through brick - he's a keeper. The big girls act as if he's annoying them beyond imagination (and he is), but he's their best friend when nap time rolls around. I am just so happy God decided I needed dogs to remind me when to stop stuffing my face.
Photo Credit: Pinterest.com
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