“AUGH! Someone needs to come get the naked man out of the dishwasher!”
Maj looks at me, “There’s a sentence you don’t often hear.”
I call to Kallan, “Just toss him in the laundry room.”
“I cannot toss him in the laundry room, because he is all growly and stubborn and snappish about how he owns the dishwasher and so he will be in the dishwasher if he wants to be in it and about how he will not be removed. I have tried to reason with him, but he appears to be under the impression that naked men get to just climb wherever they want and lick whatever they want.”
Maj looks at me again, “Naked men get to climb and lick whatever they want? Another sentence you don’t often hear.”
I walk into the kitchen and wrestle our smaller badly behaved dog out of the dishwasher. I hold his squirming protesting body tightly against my chest until he sags in surrender, and then I hold him up in the air and look into his face, “What is wrong with you, little man?” I hold him out toward Kallan, “You’re right, though. His fur is starting to grow out, but he totally looks naked.”
Kallan giggles as she turns back to the dishes, “I know, right? What happened to the sweater he was wearing?”
Jack has a collection of sweaters which he enjoys very much, and before any of you start giving me shit about the fact that I am the sort of woman who dresses her smaller badly behaved dog in sweaters, I just have this to say. . .
Shut up.
So Jack has a collection of comfy sweaters that he wears when he gets cold, and he loves his sweaters. He’s been wearing them almost every day since he got super-groomed, (except for those first few penis-extended days, because . . . ummmm . . . ouchie). His too-short hair leaves him shivery and pathetic against the elements of Oregon’s not-quite-freezing Mother Nature, so he needs clothing. Jack loves wearing clothes. Seriously . . . Jack is a weird dog; he comes running over all wiggly with excitement when you hold out an outfit. It’s so cute.
Shut up.
The only problem with Jack wearing clothes is that, as I have mentioned before, crazily dominant Jack pees like a girl. All four legs on the ground at all times . . . all squatty. This means that instead of peeing out and away from his body, he pees up and into his stomach and chest area. If this area is wearing a comfy sweater, then he pees on the sweater. Yes, I know . . . a sensible woman would stop dressing her smaller badly behaved girly-peeing manly terrier dog in sweaters at this point in the story.
Shut up.
The girly-peeing is not a problem if people would just remember to tuck his sweater up around his shoulders when he goes outside to pee. It’s not the dog’s fault. Stupid children and their forgetful selfish ways.
Shut up.
I snuggle Jack close and answer Kallan, “I had to put that sweater in the laundry.”
“He looks cold. You want me to get him another sweater?”
“Sure, thank you.”
“No, I know! I’ll get his new outfit!”
Jack’s newest outfit is green and red and fabulous and it has back legs! Which means that it stays in place better than his regular front-legs-only outfits, and because it has cut-outs for his butt and his “boy parts,” he can easily go potty without needing his outfit adjusted. Plus, the cuteness is almost unimaginable, people.
Shut up.
The first time I put this outfit on Jack, we were all sitting in the living room, and I held it up for Jack to see, “Want to try it on, little man?” Jack leapt into my arms to happily investigate his new clothing and then shoved his head into the neck opening as I held it for him. And then one leg and two legs and three legs, and, “Hold still, wiggly man!” and then four legs.
Oh . . . my . . . god.
The cuteness was heartstopping.
I was filled with ridiculous ecstatic joy at the cuteness that was my dog. I couldn’t stop hugging him. The cuteness was that overwhelming.
Mark took one look at the dog in his new outfit and snorted, “Seriously? It’s like he’s wearing assless chaps.”
“What? Shut up!”
“Kris, he so looks like he is wearing assless chaps. LOOK AT HIM.”
Jack leaped out of my arms and pranced delightedly around the room, dressed in a tight-fitting four-legged green and red outfit that exposed both his ass and his penis. He could not have been more pleased with himself. He could not have looked more . . . assless chappy gay.
“Damn it, Mark. Now that’s all I can imagine. A moment ago, I was all entranced by the cuteness, and now all I can see is . . .”
“A dog porn star?” Mark suggested.
The girls both stared at us, not saying a word, waiting to see how this played out.
Mark snickered, “Our dog needs a gay porn name.”
“STOP THAT! You are tainting the cuteness!”
Jack hopped up into Mark’s lap and turned to stand so that his bare ass was aimed back at Mark, and Mark’s eyebrows lifted, “Speaking of taint.”
I grabbed Jack off of Mark’s lap, “I said stop that!”
Jack stood in my lap to lick at my face, his front feet on my shoulders, and Mark giggled helplessly, “Really, Kris? Really? LOOK AT HIM!”
And then Mark and I both laughed until we cried as Kallan and Maj stared at us silently and Jack pranced pornily around the room.
Sigh.
So of course, now that’s all I can see when we put this outfit on Jack . . . a gay dog porn star ready for action. He will never be able to wear this outfit out in public, because I would die of embarrassment. So we save this outfit for the end of the day; it’s a private outfit.
Kallan comes back into the kitchen holding the outfit above Jack’s head as he eagerly bounds about the room, “You want your assless chaps, don’t you, Jackie? You love your assless chaps! Beg for them! Beg me for the assless chaps!”
I stifle a giggle, “Babe, we are not calling them assless chaps. Stop that.”
“Daddy started it.”
“Yes, I know. Even so.”
She bends to put the outfit on Jack . . . head first, then one leg and then two legs and then three legs, and “Jackie, stop wiggling!” and then four legs. She stands as Jack shakes himself and then dances happily at our feet, “There, little man. You’re all set in your porn jammies.”
“Porn jammies?”
Kallan giggles, “The only thing that could make that outfit more inappropriate? The only thing . . .”
I already know what she is going to say.
Kallan continues, “Remember when he got his penis hurt and then he left it hanging out for a few days? Oh man . . . that would be awesome.”
I am dead.
Dead.
And then from down here on the floor where I am dead?
More giggling.
Jack Hammer, by the way.
That’s his porn name.
Duh.
