The (Embarrassing) Things We Do For Love

Sacrificing dignity to keep my pets happy, stylish, and comfortable

Their closet contains an array of holiday sweaters, Halloween costumes, rain gear, and an assortment of outwear, including tiny jean jackets, bomber jackets, and (faux) fur coats – not to mention boots, socks, bow ties, and hats.

You might assume I’m talking about small children but sadly, I’m referring to my dogs, who have more sweaters (and personal style) than my boyfriend. My obsession was born out of practicality – small, nearly hairless dogs shiver, so it seemed perfectly normal to buy them coats. Then my office became pet-friendly, so it seemed appropriate to have them don bow ties for every season and holiday. I’ll admit to spiraling a bit from there. My little Quigley didn’t like things going over his head, so he needed had an array of tiny button-downs; not to be outdone, Alice Mae soon became known for her girly clothes including summer pinafores and a tweed dress with pearl buttons my friend Amy gifted her and refers to as her Jackie O. dress.

“At least I’m not one of those people you see pushing their dog around in a stroller.”

This is how I rationalized my obsession. But it went out the window the moment I adopted a third dog and realized I couldn’t walk them all without twisting leashes and tripping myself. In the blink of an eye, there I was, proudly wheeling my tiny, well-dressed pups around the neighborhood in their stroller. One chilly day, I had Eli swaddled in a blanket and was pushing him across a parking lot when an older lady peered in to “get a glimpse of my sweet baby.” She audibly gasped when she cooed at my bundle of joy to find a whiskered gray face staring back at her.

My dog obsession isn’t limited to tangible items. I threw a Sweet 16 party for my late chihuahua, Sasha’s, milestone birthday – complete with (doggie) cake and ice cream, music, presents, and a yard full of her friends. I’ve commissioned professional photographers to capture their cuteness for posterity (with more poses and fanfare than some bridal shoots). And my friends and family have come to expect my annual Cinco de Mayo post featuring dapper dogs in teeny sombreros.

I have a king-sized bed, yet I wake up most nights teetering on the edge because my dogs have encroached on my space; there are also nights when I wake up contorted around a dog or two, willing my leg not to go to sleep so I don’t have to wake a pup from his peaceful slumber. I’ve stood in the pouring rain, hair getting soaked as I centered the umbrella over my spoiled companions; I’ve carried them around the subdivision when they were too old to walk (but still seemed to enjoy the fresh air); and I’ve slept on my tiled bedroom floor with them when they were ill.

I don’t have human children – and while I’m aware that my dogs are not kids, I do love them like family. I believe that all dogs should be spoiled. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my pups healthy and happy, and I unapologetically spoil and celebrate them – so if I embarrass myself a little in the process, so be it. My dignity is worth sacrificing for the happiness and entertainment my gaggle of dogs provides.