If one spends money more on a sweater for one's pet than oneself, is one dangerously close to being Krazy? Like, in the eschelon of Krazy, how far (or close) is "dressing your dog in a $50 roll-neck sweater" from "naming squirrels" and "collecting Sweet-n-Low packets by the caseload?" Because I might be just one Doggie Spa Day away from an imaginary friend or a crosswalk phobia. Luckily, in New York we tend to lump all non-dangerous Krazy into the forgiving "eccentric" category, so I think I'll take my doggie sweaters and hang out with the non-violent offenders for a while. Because I actually had the conversation yesterday with someone that my dog "might need some new shoes." I'm not hosting tea parties for the neighborhood pets or anything, but doggie jackets and doggie sweaters and doggie booties are ridiculously cute. Emphasis on the ridiculous.
I would love to show you how damn cute Tuesday looks in her new sweater, but photogenic, the bitch is not. Still, my baby is good lookin'. She is also staring at me with confusion/hatred/fear as I squeal and grab for the camera. Except that she is actually looking more at Kent; please do not think that is my thigh in the photo. My thighs are not that big and would never be caught dead in baggy, faded denim.
A dog will not look at the camera on command.
A dog will sniff your crotch and try to attack the rawhide bone you are hiding in an effort to get her to look at the camera. And while the dog is sniffing your crotch, your husband will take a picture.
Clearly, Tuesday was reading the NY Times Style Section.