Every so often, my family lets me ride in the car with them. It's usually a trip to grandmas or a quick jaunt to Sonic for apple slices. But, sometimes, I have to go see the veterinarian.

I don't like the vet. All we have to do is pull up in front of the vet's office and I fall apart faster than our cat Rusty does when I decide to pounce on his head.

"Noooooo," I howled the other day as Dad stopped the car in front of the vet and Colton tried to drag me out of the back seat.

"I don't like this place," I barked. "It smells like Holly's breath in there."

Holly is a black cat who hangs out in our house. She is mean and always smells like stale catnip.

I tried to hold my ground in the back seat, but Colton finally was able to hook the leash to my dog collar and drag me into the doctor's office. Dad was talking to a couple of women in white coats while I huddled near Colton and started shaking like a leaf.

"It's all right, boy," he said, trying his best to console me.

I looked at him, tilted my head and barked: "Are you nuts? They are about to stretch my legs, pull my ears and stick needles in the back side of my body. I don't want any part of it."

Unfortunately, I didn't have a choice.

The first step was the scale. I had never had to worry about my weight. But, ever since Dad and Tyler started letting me lick their plates, I have noticed my collar getting a little tight.

"32 pounds," the nurse grumbled.

Wow, I thought to myself. I have really grown up in two years. No wonder Rusty cries when I jump on him.

Then, Dad and I were sent into a tiny office. That was OK until three nurses walked in together. I jumped up on the chair with Dad, put both my front paws around his neck and hung on for dear life.

The nurses laughed.

"It is OK," one of the ladies said. "We aren't going to hurt you."

Yea, right, I thought. This place is like the doggy torture chamber. And I knew there was no way out.

"Come here, boy," one of the nurses said as she tried to pull me off Dad's neck. "We need to check you out and give you a shot so you don't get sick."

The thought of the shot made me sick.

"Noooo," I howled.

But they stuck me with the needle anyway. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt. And they were all patting me on the head for being such a good puppy.

"I wish all of our patients were this good," the nurses said as they started to leave the room.

I was pretty proud of myself. My tail was wagging. I started kissing Dad on the cheek. I just knew he was going to take me for an ice cream cone after this performance.

"Mr. Hveem," one of the nurses said before she left, "there is just one thing. I wouldn't say Celtic is overweight, but we don't want him to gain any more weight. He needs to get in shape."

Get in shape? Look at this figure. My hind legs are strong. My chest is large. There is not an ounce of fat on me. I am Celtic!

"Did you hear that, C," Dad said. "No more licking our plates. You are in training."

Special Diet

I found out the first part about being "in training" was being on a special diet.

I could still eat the cats' food when they weren't looking. And carrots, apple slices and tuna were still on the menu. But there was no more licking plates at night, and my gigantic food bag now had a different color on it.

"I decided to get the healthy dog food for Celtic instead of the normal food," I heard "The Mama" tell Dad after she got home from the grocery store. "It has less fat."

There is that word again. Fat. Surely, they aren't calling me fat. Look at me. I should be the poster puppy for fitness. Heck, the only thing my body needs is a good haircut. My beard is starting to look like Abe Lincoln's.

"I think that is a good idea," Dad said to The Mama. "The vet said he is not overweight, he just can't gain any more weight."

I looked at Dad and laughed.

"Dad, you need to be eating this food a lot more than I do," I thought. "You are overweight."

But I love Dad. He plays tug with me more than anyone else in the family. He laughs at me all the time. He is very loud when he laughs. And he lets me sleep under the covers with him when the rest of the family is on vacation. I have to. Dad keeps the house colder than the North Pole.

"I think we should limit the number of bones we give Celtic, too," Dad said. "I think those things are pretty fattening."

Wait a minute, I thought. Low-fat dog food is one thing. Limiting bones is quite another. I have bones stashed all over the house and back yard in case of emergency. I immediately started searching for them. This was definitely an emergency.

"I think a couple bones a day are OK," The Mama said. "They are pretty little."

I went up and started kissing The Mama. She always has been my favorite. She is so beautiful. I wanted to let her know how much I appreciated her. So I piddled on the floor. Some habits are hard to break.

"CELTIC," the Mama yelled. "What are we going to do with you?"

"You can start by taking me off this special diet," I barked.

Running with Zach

"The Mama" and Dad are pretty good about taking me for walks around the neighborhood at night. But after the nurses at the vet decided I needed to get in shape, my oldest brother, Zachary, decided he wanted me to start running.

"Say, what?" I barked.

My grandpa, Joe, likes to run and ride a bike. But this was the first I had heard of Zach going on a run.

"Come on C," Zach said one day when he was home from college. "You want to go on a ..."

For some reason, every time I hear "You want to go ...," I start to go crazy. I know they are going to ask "You want to go on a walk." I don't have to hear "on a walk." But this time I should have listened. I saw Zach stretching his legs in the kitchen. My family never stretches before a walk.

"OK, C," he said. "Let's see if you can keep up with me."

I laughed. I wanted to say, "Let's see if you can keep up with me." But then again, I thought we were just going on a walk.

The minute we stepped off the front porch, Zach took off running while holding my leash. I was so excited. I was half running and half jumping. I wanted to bite my leash in two so I could break free and show Zach how fast I could really go.

"Stop it, Celtic," Zach said as he continued to jog along the street. "You are going to get all tangled up."

I didn't care. I love to run. This was fun. But it also was hot on the old paws. And Zach didn't seem to be ready to stop anytime soon.

"We are going to get you in shape, C," Zach said as he started to pull up alongside me. "I am going to be coming home a lot on weekends to work, so I will take you running."