The Blog of mamapolo

Today my daughter and I stopped at PetSmart before making the daily sojourn to the hospital.

Our purpose was to outfit the Corgii in a manner fitting for Hallowe'en and in a way that would hopefully produce smiles for my husband, who is desperately weary of being in the hospital, but not yet ready to come home safely.

I had never dressed a dog that I can recall. The costume choices were:

An orange pumpkin suit with a green stem-cap hat.

A brown, white and black cow suit.

Spiderman.

A ghost outfit.

Snow White.

Tinkerbell.

A witch.

A dog bodysuit with "Boo" on it followed by the message "Don't scare me, I poop easily."

Hmmm.

It turned out our choices were made for us - only the witch outfit came in the correct size and configuration for Clancy's long low brawny body. I assured him that it was a warlock and not to feel humiliated or gender-confused.

Cassy, hilariously, could only be inserted into the Tinkerbell costume. Her personality is about as far from Tinkerbell as mine is - maybe further.

And so, the Corgis, feeling pouty and put-upon, dressed as a warlock (black cape with a pointy hat with gold stars) and Tinkerbell (a green and pink tutu with gauzy wings) rode to Pittsburgh with me. They perched sourly on the back seat of the Yaris, Cassy grumbling non-stop. "This is stupid," she yodeled for an hour and three quarters. "We look stupid. We can't go out in public like this!" Clancy just looked warlocky and miserable. Abby followed in her car.

Upon arrival at Shadyside, we rearranged their costumes, and rode the elevator to the first floor. Clancy's hat kept slipping down over his eyes, or off to the side of his neck. Cassy trotted along, cooperative but subdued. She hoped if she kept a low profile nobody would notice her in the ridiculous tutu. She kept grumbling, "I hate my mother."

As we disembarked, an older woman with a cane stopped in the middle of the hall and rhapsodized over the adorable doggies. Another half-dozen people gathered around us. We were creating an incident and blocking access to the elevators. We moved along.

I held the pups while Abby visited the restroom. Cassy kept eyeing those who approached her. "Wanna make something of it?" her eyes asked. Clancy just kept his pacifist eyes wide and innocent, trying to convey the message that he wouldn't know a necromancer's spell if he fell over one and he was just a nice, basic kind of guy.

People raved and stopped and petted and pointed and smiled as we traveled through the hospital corridors, onto and off of elevators. Cell phone cameras clicked. Everybody giggled. Cassy blushed furiously. The staff on the third floor flocked to my husband's room, not to check IVs or take vitals, but to admire the Corgis.

My husband, exhausted from his first real walk - around the square that encircles the bank of elevators, smiled and petted them. Clancy carefully stood on his hind legs and licked his cheek, then pressed his forehead against Tim's, communing. Cassy snuggled up against his leg and earnestly explained she wouldn't have worn that sissy tutu for anybody but him.

Abby and I walked the dogs back down to the parking garage to more rave reviews. I gave them water in a bowl we'd brought for the purpose and then we started for Abby's car, Abby with Cassy's leash, me with Clancy's.

A brief moment of confusion occurred when Cassy misunderstood the direction she was expected to take and circled around me, catching Clancy's leash as she passed. We spun in a little pinwheel of women and Corgis for a moment until we got it sorted out.

Then Abby took the dogs home and I went back upstairs, where my husband said, "They looked great. Thanks."

That's all I wanted to hear.