February 9, 2013

  • The Joys of Dog Ownership

    The other day I was driven out into the cold and snow for supplies. Distilled water, I believe. One of those small necessities that run out without warning and force the sedentarily inclined into unaccustomed action.

    I went to Walmart. It's big. It's cheap. I don't have any serious quarrel with the quality of available distilled water.

    And as I was wandering through the aisles, past the photographic equipment aisle on down toward food (and therefore, distilled water) I happened to notice these tiny slippers made of fleece and brightly colored...fleece, and I thought, cold-footedly, I want one. Or, to be precise, two. 

    Slippers tend to last a long time in my wardrobe, compared to other footwear, because I never wear them. Eventually  all of Nancy's slippers die terrible deaths and I will find her hovering over mine with a look of despair on her face. And I say to her, "Would you like to wear mine?" This is one of the few ways I have of gaining points with my partner with a minimum of effort on my part.

    This winter my feet turned cold. Bam. Overnight. Every time I walk into Ilah's room, which is 112 degrees, I think to myself, "This is your future." At present, however, the only parts of me that seem to crave heat are my feet.

    The slippers I found in Walmart were for children, but cleverly I back-tracked to adult shoes, boots and footwear and found the same design on sale suitable for sizes 5-10.5.

    That always gives me pause. It's hard to imagine anything that fits a size 5 that would also fit a 10.5. I've experienced failures of this claim in both socks and gloves.

    But they were $4.50.

    And they have Hello Kitty on the toes.

    So I bought these tiny fleece slippers that look like Cinderella might be lurking near the grate and I brought them home.

    Both Riley and Annie were highly excited by my new slippers. Unusually so, I thought: Riley kept trying to grasp them and run off with them in his mouth.

    And I looked at them.

    And I looked at the assorted piles of fluff that adorn our flooring, and I realized: he thinks I bought him a dog toy.

    The odds of my new slippers surviving the next week are slim to none. Like everything else soft and fluffy and adorable, they will be hunted down, torn limb from limb and gutted.

    Bitterness will be expressed because no dog could find the squeakers.

    And they do fit my size 10 feet, by the way, but if I were a 10.5 I wouldn't hold out much hope. Nancy's feet are size 11, so she will never be able to wear my Hello Kitty slippers. Which is just as well, because Annie is waiting with bated breath.