It was just your average Saturday. Denali was milling about the house, licking hands and cabinets. My husband was grading papers on the living room couch. I was picking up the kitchen and sorting through laundry.

"White, dark, color, white," I checked off in my head. "Dark, dark, Mark's shrunken sweater. Wait ... how did that get in here?"

Months ago, my husband washed a new argyle sweater and proceeded to put it in the dryer. Holding it up, I knew there was no hope that it would ever fit Mark again. It looked like it would fit Denali.

Could it ...

Would it ...

I had to try it on him, I decided. I lured Denali into the kitchen with carrots and quickly put the sweater over his head. Getting his "arms" into the sleeves proved a bit more difficult but I managed.

Standing back, camera in hand, I smiled. He looked so cute. If only he'd stop trying to chew at the neck so I could take a picture.

And, in that moment, I realized that I am now one of "those" people. The people who dress up their animals for no reason other than personal amusement.