Doggie Dress-Up

They put the alpha hooman’s glasses on me…again. Sigh. What does a dog have to do to get a little respect out of here?

First, it was the cloth with the skulls and bones on my head. Then it was the…what did they call it?…shirt all over my body. Then the “Christmas bow”—at least that one is only once a year.

I always want to shake these things off, but they seem to make the hoomans happy. They could use some happiness. The youngest, especially. She has not been so happy lately. What made her smile go away?

Oh, and there goes the little dog again. Why did they have to get another one? I miss the one they had before him. I wonder what happened to him. He was so full life and energy, and then he just…faded. He did not smell right, but the hoomans said they were taking him to the place where dogs get fixed. Why isn’t he back yet? Why did they bring back this little mini-him instead?

I can’t keep up with this little one. He’s too hyper. He’s not like the other one. He goes too fast, so fast that I can’t keep up. And he’s too loud, although he’s been getting quieter lately—everything has been getting quieter. Why don’t the hoomans make him wear clothes?

Here we go again. Yet another outfit. But something seems different. I smell something good, something like pastries and bananas at the same time. The alpha hooman is putting it in my bowl! And the youngest hooman is looking through that rectangular thing, pointing it at everything—no, at me. Why is everyone so sad? No, happy? No, sad? I do not know.

Maybe I can wear the cloth, this one last time.

Author’s Note: This story is based on the perspective of a dog that we had until about two years ago, when she sadly died from old age. Sorry if I bummed anyone out!