So, the puddle is wearing a diaper.
There are fringe benefits to cloth diapering your child: when the dog goes in heat you’ve got all the supplies handy to keep things tidy in the tight-y instead of gross-a on the sofa.
Yeah. I’m groaning at that one, too. I’ll call that little rhyming business proof I should not be allowed to write after 10 p.m.
Anyway, I’ve got a dog wearing a diaper. It’s Penny, the poor puddle who has no self-respect anyway. She’s the dog who will not only hit the ground in submission when another dog comes around, but roll over and offer her jugular, just in case it might please the other animal to kill her.
(We had another poodle with this submissive gene. Her name was Munchkin and she was an excellent dog. Except she only had one kidney, which meant she only lived 3 years. When she passed my dad keened in grief. It was awful. I’m hoping Penny has both kidneys.)
Penny has been waddling around the house, unable to move freely because she is not used to wearing a diaper, and sad because she wants to sit on my face when I’m reclined upon the sofa. And Mama’s having none of that.
I feel so sorry for her (although I’ve been laughing at her antics). The poor thing has been ostracized from the other dogs. It’s like she’s wearing the cone of shame, except it’s because of the cloth wrapped around her backside.
The whole scenario just helps me keep in mind, “This, too, shall pass.”
Believe me, Penny, it will pass. And until then, you’ve gotta diaper with your name on it.