Canines in Clothes

Thirty-seven degrees and pouring down rain, it was another beautiful February day in Oregon. The dismal weather guaranteed us a solitary hike, since apparently, most people stay home on days like these. I simply deck myself out in rain pants, a turtleneck shirt, a light-weight insulated jacket, a rain coat, my fleece-lined sou'wester hat, a pair of gloves, and I'm good to go; rain simply cannot keep me off the trail.

Until recently, I figured dogs were adequately decked out in nature's garment – all-weather fur – and I found sweaters and other doggie-wear a tad silly. Then Izzy came into my life and I realized that not all dogs come with everything they need in the coverage department. Izzy is a pitbull mix we found on the street and nursed from a mangy, flea-bitten underweight pup, to a robust healthy dog. But Izzy's coat at its best is a sad excuse for protection from the elements.

Izzy's hair is so short that she is susceptible to heat exhaustion and sunburn. On hot summer days, we've learned to put sunscreen on her neck and tummy or she'll burn. She wilts long before black Nicholai does and I've discovered putting her in a wet T-shirt keeps her cool when the summer temperatures soar into the upper eighties or the nineties. Izzy loves the fleece sweater with sleeves that I made for her this winter, standing with her neck extended while I slip the turtleneck over her head and lifting each front leg so that I can slip them, one at a time, into the sleeves.

Previously, I always thought that dog clothes were for Chihuahuas who rode around in purses. Now, my own Izzy has a small wardrobe to help her through inclement weather. Kelley, whom I found – a story for another day – at Kelley Point Park in North Portland last summer, is similar to Izzy, and so she too, has a fleece sweater for the coldest cold weather.

This is the first year I have forced Mr. Nicholai into other-than-fur garments. His birthday coat is lush – thick around the neck and with a plush undercoat – as if a shepherd was hiding somewhere in his lineage. For most of a decade, I have found his natural coat sufficient to protect him from the elements. But this year, the year of cancer, I have put my dear old bubba in a jacket. Now, on cold and rainy days, he readily accepts his raincoat, either appreciating the warmth and dryness, or resigning himself to his human's relentless interference.

Today, I'm sure we cut quite the striking image in our bright, reflective rain wear against a backdrop of muted browns and grays. Coyotes may have been chuckling from their hiding spots. But we were out there – the only ones – hiking, sniffing, running, living; because we can, because every day counts, because we have raingear.