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[Here’s a post by an LA Times staff writer who asked to remain anonymous. Corazon wasn’t able to post today, so my friend volunteered this “piece.”]
I have pets. My pets shed. I shave pets. Pets get cold. Cold pets get clothes?
I went clothes shopping for my pets today. I folded under pressure from the vet who recommended they stay warm during winter as their abnormal shedding may indicate other complications. He didn’t care about the dozens of pets I’d had with the same abnormality.
I left my two cats at home. I figured cats will loathe any clothes I force on them, but that was just how I rationalized not wanting to carry two cases full of cat while walking two dogs. I walked aimlessly for fifteen minutes, dogs in tow, too embarrassed to ask for the clothing section. Sadly, the notion of shopping for clothes for my pets wasn’t embarrassing until shoppers asked about my dogs’ lack of hair. Turns out hairless dogs are just as grotesque and offensive as a person with a coarse coat of hair, walking around naked.
Those brave enough to approach the hairless eyesores next to me asked, “what happened to your dogs?”
“Fire accident.” Listen, I’m not a complete monster. I didn’t shave the beasts myself. I took them to groomers and told them to lop off as much as they could.
“Oh, that’s so sad.”
The clothing section was not what I expected. I was surprised by the selection seeing everything from dress shirts, to khakis fitted for dogs, to those intentionally hideous holiday sweaters. I perused and pulled out garments to eye before my dogs like a mother pressing a shirt onto her son’s chest. I had several sweaters in hand when I saw something my sister would love for her daughter. It was a Miley Cyrus sweater. I don’t know why a dog would want a Miley Cyrus sweater. I considered buying the sweater for my niece who was, apparently, roughly the same size as a large dog when I realized something.
I put the clothes down and drove until I found a yard sale. “Oh no! What happened to your dogs?”
“Nothing. Are you selling children’s clothing?”
“Yes, right over there.” I walked over and started dressing my dogs in merino and fleece sweaters. “Those aren’t for your dogs, are they?”
“No. It’s a well-known fact that dogs and children have similar builds and may thus share clothing.” I perused the rest of the yard sale and left with eight sweaters, a tennis racket, and a Nintendo.
The sweaters aren’t bad. I might gift the fleece sweaters this Christmas to my nephews. The dogs’ hair will have grown back by then.
I have pets. My pets shed. I shave pets. Pets get cold. Cold pets get clothes?
I went clothes shopping for my pets today. I folded under pressure from the vet who recommended they stay warm during winter as their abnormal shedding may indicate other complications. He didn’t care about the dozens of pets I’d had with the same abnormality.
I left my two cats at home. I figured cats will loathe any clothes I force on them, but that was just how I rationalized not wanting to carry two cases full of cat while walking two dogs. I walked aimlessly for fifteen minutes, dogs in tow, too embarrassed to ask for the clothing section. Sadly, the notion of shopping for clothes for my pets wasn’t embarrassing until shoppers asked about my dogs’ lack of hair. Turns out hairless dogs are just as grotesque and offensive as a person with a coarse coat of hair, walking around naked.
Those brave enough to approach the hairless eyesores next to me asked, “what happened to your dogs?”
“Fire accident.” Listen, I’m not a complete monster. I didn’t shave the beasts myself. I took them to groomers and told them to lop off as much as they could.
“Oh, that’s so sad.”
The clothing section was not what I expected. I was surprised by the selection seeing everything from dress shirts, to khakis fitted for dogs, to those intentionally hideous holiday sweaters. I perused and pulled out garments to eye before my dogs like a mother pressing a shirt onto her son’s chest. I had several sweaters in hand when I saw something my sister would love for her daughter. It was a Miley Cyrus sweater. I don’t know why a dog would want a Miley Cyrus sweater. I considered buying the sweater for my niece who was, apparently, roughly the same size as a large dog when I realized something.
I put the clothes down and drove until I found a yard sale. “Oh no! What happened to your dogs?”
“Nothing. Are you selling children’s clothing?”
“Yes, right over there.” I walked over and started dressing my dogs in merino and fleece sweaters. “Those aren’t for your dogs, are they?”
“No. It’s a well-known fact that dogs and children have similar builds and may thus share clothing.” I perused the rest of the yard sale and left with eight sweaters, a tennis racket, and a Nintendo.
The sweaters aren’t bad. I might gift the fleece sweaters this Christmas to my nephews. The dogs’ hair will have grown back by then.
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