Charles Ralph models his plaid sweater.
Now that we have entered the belly of winter, the freezing temps force us to layer up to prevent our pancreases from freezing into a large, pink lump of human juices.
While we humans are pretty good about preparing for inclement weather, our four-legged best friends of the canine persuasion are not. In fact, they resist our attempts to dress them in snappy winter attire for their daily walks.
“Oh Honey,” the wife said, “will you look at this adorable turtleneck sweater I got for Charles Ralph? Don’t you absolutely love it?”
“I do, which is a good thing because I’ll probably be the one wearing it. Lord knows our fifty-five pound ball of fur will hate it,” I said predicting Charlie’s love of knitted outerwear.
“Don’t be silly. He’s going to love this red and black buffalo print. And looky here in the back! It’s the cutest little deer. He’ll be like a little doggie deer.”
“Do you hear yourself?” I said. “It’s not right to dress a dog as another species. It’s a crime against nature.”
“What about Halloween when you dressed up like a Tyrannosaurus Rex with gigantic arms? Wasn’t that a crime against nature?”
“No, because dinosaurs are extinct. They don’t care.”
“Anyway, let’s try this sweater on Charles Ralph and see how he looks,” the wife said and left in search of the dog who was now hiding behind the curtains in the living room.
For those of you who have never tried to put a sweater on a dog, let me say here it is probably easier to put a wetsuit on a turkey.
Dogs just do not enjoy the process at all. It takes at least two fairly strong adults to accomplish this; one adult to bunch the sweater up to the neck opening and one adult to ram the dog in head first. Then both adults must try to feed the front legs into the arm holes.
After a full ten minutes, the wife and I finally got Charlie into his new sweater. We were spent, sweating, and I think I may even had a chest pain from the task.
“Aren’t you adorable? Don’t you just love your new sweater, Charlie?” the wife said.
“Look at him, Honey!” I said. “He hates it! He’s flailing his legs and rolling around on the floor trying to get out of it! He looks like he’s having a seizure! I’ll hold him down; you grab his tongue!”
“He’s just modelling his new sweater for us.”
“If he models any harder, we’ll have to intubate him. Charlie, relax! It’s just a sweater! You do not have a bobcat on your back. Don’t make me call an exorcist!”
“No way,” the wife said, “not until I get a picture of him in it. I paid twenty bucks for that sweater and I want an 8×10 glossy!”
Pulling out a treat and yelling “sit,” Charles Ralph ceased his convulsive behavior and responded to the wife’s commands (as we both do). “Smile at the camera.” SNAP, SNAP.
Two flips and a roll later, the sweater came off and Charles Ralph returned to being a normal dog.
“Well,” the wife said, “that was fun!”
Extremely disgruntled I said, “I’m burying that sweater in the backyard before it kills us…no argument!”
