If Olive had her way, the entire world would be a nudist colony. How do I know this you ask? Easy. Try getting dressed in front of her in the morning. It’s like trying to make it through an obstacle course wearing high heels and blinders. She finds socks and underwear particularly offensive. She will try to tear them from my hands as I struggle, somewhat defenselessly, balancing myself on one leg to get them on before she shreds them. I must look like a Diane Arbus photograph that got alive somehow. She will however, wait until I get my pants on before she starts biting at the legs. Maybe the pants are more intimidating to her. Hell, maybe she’s trying to even the playing field.

Why does she do this? Either she wants to render me defenseless, clearly demonstrating her Alpha status to me, or she just feels that since she has no clothes on, neither I nor anyone else should either. Perhaps it’s her way of saying, “I too support PETA.” Funny, what goes through the mind of a dog. Perhaps I should take Olive shopping for clothes. Then she can tear her own clothes off. I think she’d probably be partial to Calvin Klein or Prada canine couture. They’d make good dog names too wouldn’t they? Calvin and Prada. I’m sure some snob somewhere, probably in Europe has named their dog Prada, don’t you think?

And the funny thing is. She has no problem when I get undressed at night. She just sits there watching wordlessly, as I toss the clothes into the hamper, (which she can’t quite figure out the purpose of yet.) This is the cue she’s been waiting for all day. Ah yes, another opportunity to stick her head into the wastebasket in the bathroom to retrieve the dental floss which flies behind her like the parachute behind a formula one race car while she races past me in a grey-brown blur. All I see is dental floss suspended in the air down the hallway.