I’ve said more than once that I would never put my dog in a costume he didn’t agree to. Then I remembered two things. My Coton, Moxie, is a prankster with a little brother complex. And my niece is scared to death of spiders.

Those two have history. She chases him all over the house, and he plots revenge like any good little brother. So a fuzzy spider costume went straight in my Target cart. For once, he’d do the chasing, and I’d film it for her wedding slideshow. Good aunts plan ahead. 

Every dog has a costume like that, the one that’s just who they are. Here are 12 of them, one for every kind of dog I’ve met. I bet yours is in here.

Conversely, here’s what your dog’s halloween costume says about you!

The Old Soul

Bedtime is 8:30 p.m., and starting around 8:15 you’ll get the sighs and the look. They like a quiet house and a clean yard. Skip a poop pickup and they’ll stand there bumping the back of your knee until you go get the scooper. Every time.

Costume:

A retired librarian. Cardigan, reading glasses on one of those beaded chains, and that long look over the top of them. Ring the bell twice on Halloween, and you’ll get it too.

The Debutante

This is the dog who won’t get on the couch until you fix the throw pillow. At 10:15 p.m., they’re at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to be carried up. Pick up your car keys, and they’re flat out on the kitchen tile crying like you just announced a move to the other side of the planet. (My Shepherd mix does this whenever somebody says “bath.”)

Costume:

A festival queen. Get a sash that says Little Miss Peach Festival and turn the red wagon into a parade float. Somebody else does the pulling, obviously.

The Digger

Red clay on the nose is a normal day for your dog, and the hole by the back fence could swallow a kickball. The hydrangeas have been relocated twice, and nobody pulled a permit. Even the couch cushions get dug at before naps, just to stay in practice.

Costume:

A road crew worker in a hard hat and an orange vest. The project by the back fence broke ground in June, and like I-4, it has no end date.

The Wallflower

At a party, your dog finds the one corner nobody’s using and watches from there. They warm up to your friends during the goodbyes, which in the South still gives them a solid 45 minutes.

Costume:

A sunflower in a pot. Set them in the corner. Nobody is going to ask a sunflower to mingle.

The Food Thief

Turn around to sneeze and half your Publix chicken tender sub is gone. They’re back on the rug like nothing happened, except there’s Duke’s mayo on their whiskers. (My cocker spaniel has never been caught, which isn’t the same as never doing it.)

Costume:

A jailbird in black-and-white stripes, serving time for last night’s burger. The sub charge got dropped for lack of evidence.

The Protector

Not a big barker, this one. But they sleep across the bedroom doorway every night. They’ll accompany you on every bathroom trip. If you’re out in the front yard, they sit right between you and the road. When company stays over, there’s a quiet headcount at the back door before bed.

Costume:

A cowboy in a long duster. Supper can wait until everybody else is inside.

The Athlete

A soggy tennis ball shoved into your face at 6 a.m. sharp. Halfway through the blessing? Tennis ball in your lap. That ball has been in the pool and over the neighbor’s fence, and it always comes back. Between throws, the zoomies hit for no reason anyone can name.

Costume:

A sprinter in a sweatband and a gold medal. The personal best is three laps of the backyard in the time it takes you to bend down for the ball. 

The Dragon

Your dog keeps a hoard behind your family sofa. Three socks, the TV remote, and one AirPod. Nobody has seen the other AirPod since Easter. Every pass of the vacuum gets a roar that rattles your grandmother’s china.

Costume:

A dragon, with felt wings and spikes down the back. The whole hoard can be traded back with one slice of American cheese and some cuddles.

The Cuddler

There is no personal bubble in this household. Sit down anywhere, and they take it as an invitation. Your lap is theirs whether or not there’s room, and there’s never room. Stand up for a refill and your warm spot is now theirs.

Costume:

A teddy bear with fuzzy ears and a satin bow. They’ll get passed around like a new grandbaby. That has been the plan all along.

The Sunshine

Every day is a good day to this little bolt of sunshine. Come home with a flat tire and a burnt pan of cornbread, and here comes that goofy grin anyway. They’ll follow you room to room until you smile back. It’s 24/7, vet clinic included, bless them. 

Costume:

The sun, made from a ring of yellow felt rays. Fitting, since they beat it up every morning. 

The Sniffer

A walk around one block takes your dog 45 minutes, because every crepe myrtle needs a thorough sniff and the fire hydrant needs two. Pulling on the leash only slows things down.

Costume:

A detective in a trench coat with a magnifying glass. The case of who peed on the neighbor’s azaleas is still open.

The Refuser

Your dog agreed with you when you swore off costumes. The second the Target bag crinkles, they’re in the guest room, facing the wall. Visiting hours resume November 1.

Costume:

Whatever you bought, halfway on, for about four seconds. The blurry picture with the costume sideways is the one that ends up on the fridge.

As for Moxie, my niece called him the cutest spider she’d ever seen. He lost interest on the spot and tried to shake it off. Turns out he’s a Refuser too. Five minutes is a long career for one. 

Comment your dog’s alter ego below, especially if they outlasted Moxie.