For many of us in the northern snow-covered hills of the United States, hunting season is shortly coming to an end—if not already. Green rolling pastures have now been replaced by a tundra; the woodcock have all traveled down to warmer, worm-filled bayous; and the grouse are retreating to the treetops.

Now entering your home, you will likely be met by familiar eyes: your hunting dog staring back at you for a sign that you are gearing up for a hunt. As your dog realizes that you are settling in for the evening, you can see its disappointment. Soon it slinks to its bed in protest, curling into a ball with a dejected sigh, resigning to the fact that there has been a change in the routine. A feeling of guilt fills your soul as your dog was at its happiest pursuing birds for you, so, of course, you head to the cookie jar to let Ol’ Red know just how sorry you are. Your once chiseled athlete has de-evolved into somewhat of a bratwurst shape.

Ol’ Red—now more affectionately known as “Mr. Weeble Wobble”—needs more than a little attention to get back down to his fighting weight.

Read more at projectupland.com.