A lament from the costume-impaired

Miró has been invited to a multitude of Halloween parties. I was invited to be the costume judge at one Sheltie party to which Miró was especially invited.

 For my costume I had the clever idea of wearing a vintage trench coat and fedora and calling myself Sammie Spade. I’d need a toy pistol for my pocket. I’d also need to paint my fingernails 1940’s red. Who has time? I got as far as trench coat removing the trench coat from the closet. I gave up.

 I thought what a great idea if I could find a small trench coat for Miró for the next party. Probably at any other time of year I’d find one at Value Village or Salvation Army. Not now, of course. Costume stores offer sharks, elves, hot dogs, pirates, super heroes, and infinite variations of Harry Potter. You can even disguise your dog as a football. But a private eye? Nope.

I thought of putting Miró in a white shirt and black vest (mine) and pretending he’s—what? Sam Spade’s assistant? Paint him black and declare that he’s the Maltese Falcon? Or do what I did on Sunday and tell everyone he’s a Sheltie dressed up as an Airedale? Except that he wouldn’t behave like a Sheltie for even one second, as the photos below illustrate.

 

 Shelties stand around obediently, sit to watch the action, or parade when asked. 

  

 

 

They do not head out for the fountain.

 

 

Shelties especially do not flash thirty people and their dogs.

 

Nobody believed me when I said Miro was in a costume.