Following on from Corinna's horrific story of a massively over-fed dog, here's a lighter tale of plump pooches today....
My grandmother, Clare, who I'm named after (Liz being short for Clare-Elizabeth), worked part time as a cleaner on Rochdale railway station many years ago, as well as in the refreshment room on certain days. One day she happened upon two seemingly abandoned skeletal doggies tied up to one of the benches on the platform. Taking pity on them, she spirited off to the refreshment room to see what she could find to satisfy their obvious hunger, returning soon after with meat and potato pies.
As the grateful dogs settled down for a doze after their delicious meal and Grandma was planning her next job of contacting the RSPCA, a very angry gentleman approached her, demanding to know what the bloody hell she thought she was doing.
"Are these dogs yours, then?" she asked, adding when the man answered in the affirmative, "So you're the cruel sod whose left 'em half-starved, are you? I want your name so I can give it to the police!" She then proceeded to lecture the "cruel sod" on how one should care for one's animals, stating that she bet he had made sure he'd had his breakfast that morning.
It wasn't until the station master showed up, hearing the kerfuffle, that Clare realised her mistake. The station master explained, where the dogs' owner had failed to get a word in, that these particular canids were not starving; they were greyhounds on their way to an important race and were promised a decent meal afterwards because they couldn't run on a full stomach. Never one to back down, though, Gran insisted that the man shouldn't have been racing his dogs anyway if it meant them waiting for their breakfast and she refused to apologise.