I might have mentioned a time or two that I love my dog. I make fun of him sometimes when other people are around, because I know his manners are atrocious (and that’s all my fault). He loves to greet you by jumping as close as possible to your face and being generally ridiculous. I don’t discourage him. He likes to hump other dogs. There isn’t even a nice way to say that. I did try to discourage that habit. I gave up. Despite his flaws, I can only think of good things to say to Peanut when it’s just the two of us. The jumping and the humping disappear into the recesses of my memory, and he’s the sweetest dog in the world.
Once in a blue moon, I get home and the jumping doesn’t happen. Instead, I’m left to search for my dog all through the house. The most popular spots for those days are on my bed, right by the pillows or smushed up against the wall under the couch. And inevitably, there’s a pair of very sad eyes looking at me from his handsome dog face.
The worst thing about the sad eyes is that I don’t usually know what caused them. There’s dejected staring off into space and the occasional sad glance in my direction, and that’s it. Are the squirrels mocking Peanut all day from the attic? Are the neighbor cats showing off on the front porch, just out of his reach? Is he really upset that I’m only home and awake for a few hours a day? That last one is the kicker. It gives me all kinds of guilty pangs.
I try ear rubs and tug of war and quality time on the couch, and sometimes I can make the sad eyes go away. Not last night though. Sigh.
Now feast your eyes on this:
Sad eyes are the only thing between me and the purchase of that trench coat. Oh, and the fact that it’s more expensive than my trench coat. Anyway, I think we can all agree that the dog in the coat is adorable. Not even cold hearts can resist that face, and he looks perfectly happy in his trench coat. Put Peanut in that same trench coat and record-breaking levels of sad would exude from his eyes. He would hang his head in shame and beg me to take the wretched thing off of him.
There’s a blog somewhere in the vast blogosphere that shows pictures of animals who are embarrassed by weird costumes and items of clothing that their owners make them wear. I feel great sympathy for those pets. They’re supposed to be wild and beastly, and here we are making them wear pink frills and constricting headgear. You can’t properly stalk a squirrel while wearing a bow tie.
So there you are, my argument against clothing for pets and the very first moment I’ve regretted that stance all in one neat bundle. That trench coat is just so much cooler than most dog clothing. I would like to avoid the sad eyes though.