If I had owned Corky when I was single, the dog would have had a sweater. In fact, he would have had several and one of them would have been some macho cowboy outfit for him to wear when I took him to walk at the lake. When I was first married, the dog would have had a sweater. I would have probably ditched the cute one and left him in a black watch plaid or a herringbone as I focused more on my home and my husband.
When I had one or two children. The dog could have still had a sweater, though it probably would have stayed on him too long between washings or it might have languished in the laundry for days while he wished I would get my act together. That would have been a good time for this theoretical dog to learn what Corky knows well. That is how to wrap up in the bathroom rug!
Corky is a real dog who lives with us and is loyal in spite of our craziness. He came into our lives in the midst of our son's kidney transplant and major upheaval. He was a tiny waif and actually did have a sweater thanks to our dear friend Sara. I suspect that Sara feared for his safety and health and was trying to save his life. Corky survived us and out grew that sweater, never to wear another one.
We really do love Corky. However, if love is measured in doggie apparel we will never get a passing score. Well, maybe, if Corky lives long enough for all the children to get grown. When there are no human booboos to tend, no large meals to serve to hungry children, no complicated schedule of 4-H and Driver's education, and no multiple medical and dental appointment days, things could change. If, at this point, I have a few brain cells left, I could notice Corky's shivering geriatric form wrapped in the bathroom rug and offer to take a trip to Petsmart and buy him a nice cable knit, Mr. Roger's type sweater. The zipper would make it easier on my arthritic hands.
Back to the theoretical dog. If he survived the early sweatered years and the middle years of benign neglect, he very well could find himself at the stage of once again wearing clothing. He could be having his own little dish of ice cream every night and his name might have gradually been changed to "Baby". He probably would be invited to go in the car and sit on the furniture. The grandchildren would be warned not to bother Baby's toys, which might even be stored in his own doggie toy box.
Real dogs don't last long enough to experience all the stages in the life of a family. Families who love dogs always wish they did. Rudyard Kipling expressed this wish best in this poem. Corky is middle aged and bedraggled from years of love. Knowing what I know about dogs and how short a time we have to enjoy them, I should probably start knitting a sweater for him. Or maybe, I will just throw an old towel over him and light the heater.
Lawana
