When I spotted big Bertha, I knew I had to help her go from plus-size to pug size. By Meredith Wille, 49
As two sad eyes stared at me from the computer screen, my heart ached.
Oh Bertha, I have to save you, I thought.
I was looking at a Facebook post with a picture of a pug beagle cross.
But at an enormous 4st 7lb, Bertha was more whale than puggle.
Her picture was posted by an animal rescue centre, and someone had written: Does anyone want a challenge?
They weren’t joking.
I worked as a dog rehabilitation practitioner and fitness trainer, so was qualified to turn Bertha’s life around. But although I’d worked with overweight dogs, Bertha was by far the biggest I’d seen.
But she looked such a pitiful pug, I had to help. I contacted the animal rescue centre and explained the doggy services I could offer.
The vet at the rescue centre messaged back saying: That sounds great, but we can’t afford those.
No, I’m offering them for free, I replied. I’d like to foster Bertha.
I already had five pooches at home, but I was always ready to foster a dog in need.
Just days later, I was driving to pick up my portly pug.
But when I saw Bertha in the furry flesh, I gasped. She was even bigger than her picture. Her body was so bulky, I could barely see her head.
And she struggled to stand or walk.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to help you,’ I vowed as I lifted her bulging body into my van.
The rescue centre vet said he didn’t know much about Bertha’s past, but guessed she was between eight and ten years old. She’d been taken into the rescue centre with some siblings, but Bertha had been the only one overweight.
We arrived home and my five other dogs, Ruflan, Maggie, Kattan, Rosanna and Britt, gave Bertha a welcome sniff. They were used to me fostering dogs and loved having new pet pals.
But Bertha was so lethargic, she barely lifted her head in response.
And she could only manage a few steps before lying down.
I put down nappy sheets on the floor knowing she wouldn’t be able to make it outside for the toilet.
Then I booked her in at the vet for blood tests.
‘She has an underactive thyroid, which is probably causing her excessive weight,’ the vet said.
A borderline diabetic, Bertha was at risk of developing both pancreatitis and liver failure.
‘What a poorly pup,’ I sighed.
Bertha had also snapped a tendon in her left hind leg, which would have made walking difficult even without her massive bulk.
The vet said: ‘We can’t operate on Bertha’s leg until she’s slimmer. Right now, she’d never survive the anaesthetic.’
It was time for a doggy diet.
Armed with thyroid medication and a food and exercise plan, my goal was for Bertha to lose between four to five per cent of her body weight each month, with the aim of halving her size in a year.
‘This will be an uphill battle, Bertha,’ I said. ‘But we’ll do it together.’
Bertha’s life depended on it…
After stocking up on high-protein, low-calorie dog food and treats, it was time to get Bertha exercising.
I started her on the underwater treadmill at work, where Bertha’s joints were supported by the water as she walked.
‘Come on girl,’ I urged. She only managed 15 seconds at first but after that, she made pawsitive progress each time.
And as time passed, I sensed Bertha growing attached to me. At home, if I walked into another room, she’d try to waddle after me.
So, I’d often get up just to encourage her to walk.
Within three months, Bertha was managing 15 minutes on the underwater treadmill.
Next, we moved onto a doggy swimming pool my friend owned. I looked on in pride as Bertha doggy-paddled for up to 22 metres.
Soon, Bertha was disappearing before my eyes.
At her four-month weigh in, she’d shed 20lb.
‘Well done, Bertha!’ I cheered, giving her a cuddle.
And, as her fat melted away, her personality shined through.
One morning, Bertha greeted me with a wagging tail.
It was the first time I’d ever seen her do it.
‘Oh, you happy pup,’ I beamed, fighting back tears.
She grew more affectionate and loving, and would flop on her back to demand belly rubs.
Before long, Bertha reached 38lbs which meant she was slim enough for her leg surgery.
And after the op, she was a different dog.
I gasped as I watched her doing zoomies round the house just days later.
‘Be careful!’ I chuckled. She was really finding her feet - or paws!
And I started taking her for longer walks.
That’s when her stubborn side emerged. She’d look at me with an expression that said: ‘Just because I can walk now, doesn’t mean I want to.’
But I was just happy she was moving at all.
Only then, a month later, calamity struck.
One evening, I noticed Bertha hadn’t touched her dinner.
‘What’s wrong?’ I cooed. Bertha normally couldn’t get enough of her food.
I took her to the vet, who carried out an ultrasound.
‘Bertha has a serious gallbladder infection, so we need to remove her gallbladder,’ he said. ‘She also has a lump on her spleen which needs removing.’
But he had a stark warning.
‘With this type of surgery, there’s only a 50 per cent chance of Bertha surviving,’ he said.
I was knocked for six. Bertha had come so far, and now her life was on the line again.
I waited anxiously for my poor pup to come out of surgery.
To my relief, she pulled through just fine.
In fact, just days later she was back to her exercise regime.
And three months on, she’d reached her 2st 2lb target weight.
‘You’ve done it, Bertha!’ I whooped. ‘You’re half the dog you were!’
I felt delighted for her.
But then I realised something. Now fit and healthy, Bertha was ready to be adopted. I’d only been fostering her, after all.
But I just couldn’t let her go.
‘You’re part of the family now,’ I told her as she lay at my feet.
So, I officially adopted Bertha.
I even took her to work with me, and the clients loved her.
Bertha would go and sit next to the dogs getting their treatment, as if to say: ‘I’m here to sup-_paw-_t you.’
Now, we’ve got such an amazing bond. Bertha follows me everywhere I go, and sleeps right next to my bed, along with my other pooches. She gets on well with her doggy siblings, but she’s happiest at my side.
It’s made me so happy to see Bertha go from a sad, obese dog to the happiest little pooch.
She’s even developed a mischievous side and often I’ll find her getting into the bins to try and steal food.
But I wouldn’t change a thing about her.
All Bertha needed was a bit of love and attention to get her fighting fit.
Now she’s half the dog but double the personality!