Imagine that you are a small white dog with long nails and a problem with authority. Now imagine your owner's mother has a leather sofa. This sofa is susceptible to scratching. You are largely unaffected by the ongoing scramble to protect the sofa from your toenails... at least for a while. Then one day, as you nap on the sofa, plans are being set in motion that will change the course of your life, at least for the remaining ten days in France. You sleep in ignorant bliss through some snipping, sewing, and hot gluing.
As you have probably guessed, this is a story about Lyle. Today I had the "creative" idea of making him socks from my too-big-socks. I don't really like dog clothes that look too much like human clothes (i.e. sweaters, etc.), but this was arguably necessary. It was surprisingly easy, but I'm really only a perfectionist sometimes, and I willed myself to relax about something like dog socks (in fact I made one inside out, oops). Some mild swearing was involved in the process, on my part. If Lyle could speak, I shudder to think what he might have said about the whole thing. After we put them on, he spent about ten minutes trembling on the sofa, staring at where his paws used to be. Then we put him on the ground. The hot-glue sticky spots worked surprisingly well for traction, but it was a little bit heartbreaking watching him move around, like he had to re-learn how to walk after being in a coma. I put away the socks for the rest of the day. We'll begin the process again tomorrow.
(P.S. Lyle's pet passport is stamped by a vet and he's ready to fly. He sends you all season's greetings!)