Sometimes these critters are almost human (No insult intended. They copy human ways the same way many foreigners copy American culture. They keep the worst parts and toss the rest.)

Yesterday Patty bought Mac two little doggie sweaters; one was hot pink and the other plaid. She tried the pink one on him first, then struck a pose. "Oh, isn't that sweet!"

Mac just looked at her for a moment, then turned and looked at me. I didn't want to hurt anybody's feelings, so I just grinned. Big grin. That mutt looked so. . .so. . .pink. Hmmph.

Then he looked at Sasha; she laid her ears back, bared her fangs, and hisspit.

Willoughby was the one who spoke for us all. First he grinned real big, then snickered, then broke into mouth-wide-open, screaming, holding-his-sides-and-rolling-on-the-couch laughter. He carried on so he rolled off the couch and onto the floor, still shrieking with mirth. You know how contagious that is; in a moment we were all cackling.

Mac started contorting himself, twisting and turning until he finally got his teeth hooked in the collar of that awful sweater and commenced to eat it! He yanked and pulled and twisted and snarled and fought until he had torn it to shreds and ripped it off his offended body. He snorted, then looked up at Patty as if to say, "Try that again and you're next!" Mac stalked from the room with great dignity, marred only slightly by his snagging a claw in the remains of that. . .thing, making him stumble and bump his nose.

The plaid one turned out to be more acceptable, although it took several tries to get it on him. It didn't help when Willoughby swished by, one paw at half mast while mincing around the room as if he were chewing gum with his buttocks.

Copyright © David Yehudah
November 13, 1999