Our former stray is a bit of a chonk. He had the appetite of a dog that spent all day on the hunt, the metabolism of a dog that didn't always succeed, and the activity level of a dog who hated every minute of all of it. Once we saw the weird round scars hiding in his coat and heard the yelps when picking him up put pressure on the wrong rib, we just decided to let him live his life. After what he clearly went through, living to 12 (or 13 or 14 or however the fuck old he really is) as a pudgy lump is probably heaven on earth. He's still a bit sensitive, but he's trusting and comfortable. If it takes chicken nuggets to get us there, so be it.

Our younger pup was born in a loving foster home, and he is like a smiling brick shithouse bursting with light and joy, so he gets a lot more exercise and play to work off the human food, and yeah, by percent of body weight he probably eats less.