When Bad Things Happen To Good Dogs
Every year, when Spring approaches, I start to miss Winter immediately. What can I say? I love cold weather. Anything just below freezing is my sweet spot. I love the feel of wind cutting across my face, and walking over snow-covered sidewalks feeling like the last person on earth. A rare feeling in NYC.
Now that Labor Day is here, I begin to welcome the changing of the seasons. I start to become giddy at the thought of no more humid, hazy days. No more hideously, half-dressed adolescents. No more super long days. (I prefer dark, starlit evenings.) Last Winter was a pretty good one. Much snow, many freezing nights. Ahhh, I'm so looking forward to this Winter. So much so, that when a friend forwarded me a forecast from a Farmer's Almanac predicting a brutally cold Winter, I did what anyone would do: I went to Joann's, bought a sweatshirt pattern and some Hello Kitty polar fleece and made something for their dog.
She's a good dog. She puts up with much. And the one thing she truly detests is clothing. When the temperatures start to drop, and her quilted coat comes out of hiding, she runs for cover. Every season, it's the same battle. And as soon as I get the coat on, she does a little spinning dance, faces me, squats and poops. This will happen a few times at the start of every cold season. I'm normally prepared with a plastic baggy, ready to catch her steaming hatred in my hands, but since it's still warm out, I wasn't prepared.
Gleefully, I finished up the sweatshirt (on the serger she detests as well), called her into the sewing room and threw it on her before she could realize what was happening. As I started laughing and reaching for my phone to snap some pictures, she looked up at me, squatted and pooped.