OK, humans, what gives?

Yes, I'm a giant talking canine.
Yes, I remind you of your own dog.
Yes, you carry your mutt around all the time.
No, you can't carry me.

In my fursuiting travels, I've discovered that folks want to
pick me up. Literally.

I'm kind of a skinny guy, but come on, I still weigh more
than your furry pal at home.

This young lady was a prime example of the I-wanna-carry-you syndrome.
She was super nice and a ton of fun as we shared a cold brew, but she
succumbed to her inner demons after a short time.

"Hop on!" She said, and got ready for me to climb onto her back.
"Honey," I said respectfully, "you look liked a strong, liberated
women. You're smart and sassy and you've got tremendous sunglasses.
You don't need a full grown doggie on your back."

She looked over her shoulder and winked.
"C'mon," she said. "I carry my Scruffy everywhere."
I caught the bartender's attention and ordered us two more beers.
The only way I was gunna avoid this hayride was the old bait-and-switch.

The cold ones arrived seconds later, and I managed to distract my
erstwhile horsey with a fresh Corona. We clinked bottles and drank a
toast to Scruffy. Soon we were joined by a small herd of curious folks,
wanting to drink with the gravity impaired canine, and her chances for a
piggy back ride became greatly reduced.

We bid farewell a few minutes later. She wanted to go home and
carry Scruffy up and down the stairs just to prove she could.
I feigned vertigo as a beefy gentleman offered to hoist me up
on his shoulders.

I should carry a sign: "Newton was right."

Fursuiting rocks. I still love all the wonderful reactions and interesting
comments and conversations. I still love the hugs and surprised
looks and happy smiles.

I just want to keep my paws on the ground!