Baby Shark: An Homage to my Sweatshirt

Little dog is 30 pounds of adorable with a mug of sharp little teeth and the biggest bark you have ever heard from a dog his size. Both of our dogs have two-syllable names and fit perfectly into “Baby Shark,” but he is the real deal. We used to call old-man dog a shark because he had to keep moving. Little dog can sit still, but he’s an opportunistic little shit.

On Sunday, we had Dragon-Age-meets-Curse-of-Straud D&D with our friends. Our DM, the best cook I know, made us lasagna and garlic bread. I may have gotten some on my favorite sweatshirt, the one my brother gave me for Christmas about ten years ago during the height of his brick-and-mortar clothing store. It’s the last item of clothing I had with his old logo (he sold the company).

This  sweatshirt has seen it all: at least one PrideFest, a couple of AIDS walks, many evenings out with friends, and most game Sundays. I wear it all the time, no joke. If it’s in my closet longer than a week, I’m wearing my other sweatshirt with no hood and thumb holes (and bitching because it’s not my favorite sweatshirt).

We’ve had little dog three months now. Casualties: two dog toys (one brand-new, first-use food ball and a food ball we’ve had almost a year for big dog) an old, frayed pillowcase, and a brand new pillow (inside the pillowcase). The pillow must not have tasted as good as the case, since he stopped chewing after he got the corner.

Monday, I’d set my favorite sweatshirt aside to wear to big dog’s obedience school that evening. It was on a shelf in my bathroom, along with my pajamas. When I wasn’t looking, someone took my sweatshirt from the bathroom to the dog bed in the living room, where they proceeded to eat. my. sweatshirt.

Big dog has never eaten an item of clothing. We’ve had him sixteen months and he’s never even attempted to lick a pair of underwear. (Old-man dog was a notorious pantie-snatcher.) Big dog was so gentle with his food ball toy, we had no idea it could be destroyed in a matter of seconds.

No, I am well aware Baby Shark ate my sweatshirt. Both armpits, both pockets, almost an entire side of (now rather thin) fabric. He’s gotten his fiber for the week.

I ordered myself a new sweatshirt on Amazon, which should be here in a couple of days. Until then, I’m probably following him around the house singing, “Baby Shark doo-doo-doodoodoodoo, Baby Shark doo-doo-doodoodoodoo, don’t eat my clothes, doo-doo-doodoodoodoo, Baby Shark.”

That pacifier looks like a good idea…