I've become a social recluse.
I can't have friends over, I can't go to the park, and I have to sneak around my yard in the middle of the night, hoping I don't set off any of my neighbors' motion lights. I don't know how much longer this can go on. Something has to be done about my dog, Chewy.
You see, Chewy is a nudist. He refuses to wear clothes, no matter what the occasion. Walking around the house? Nude. Eating his dinner? Nude. Going outside to relieve himself? Nude! There is no end to Chewy's exhibitionist ways.
At first, I thought the problem was a matter of style. Dog clothes are sold in limited varieties, and I thought maybe Chewy was simply setting higher standards for himself. I would put him in a pair of polka dotted shorts, a tight red Polo shirt, and a beanie cap, and he would tear it off himself in a matter of seconds. I couldn't entirely blame him. He looked like a dork. The other dogs would have certainly teased him into submission. Fair enough. I consulted a seamstress and had her design some special outfits for Chewy. A sharp tuxedo. Some baggy jeans and a hoodie. A rather dashing pinstriped suit. Every time, Chewy would wrestle his way out of the clothes and prance away, free and naked.
I guess this is just the way it has to be.