I turned into the pet-food aisle at the supermarket the other day and saw a shopper carrying a Boston terrier as he studied the shelves. Animal lover that I am, I approached the man, praised his dog and expressed surprise that the market allowed him to shop with the pup. "They told me it was okay," he replied, "as long as I don't put her in the cart."
No doubt this guy got more than a few dirty looks from other shoppers as he made his rounds while cradling a pooch. But it occurred to me that the dog, who sat quietly in her owner's arm, was less offensive than many shoppers.
For one thing, she had no tattoos on the back of her neck. She didn't careen through the store, using a shopping cart as a weapon. She didn't position her cart in such a way that it blocked an entire aisle while she thoroughly analyzed the chardonnay display, oblivious to everyone else. She didn't scream at her kids, or bawl her brains out when mom nixed a candy purchase, or munch on food she had yet to buy. And even though she was, well, naked, she still looked better-dressed than a goodly number of slovenly shoppers.
All in all, seeing that dog in the supermarket actually improved my shopping experience. At least until I tried to get past the chardonnay display.
For one thing, she had no tattoos on the back of her neck. She didn't careen through the store, using a shopping cart as a weapon. She didn't position her cart in such a way that it blocked an entire aisle while she thoroughly analyzed the chardonnay display, oblivious to everyone else. She didn't scream at her kids, or bawl her brains out when mom nixed a candy purchase, or munch on food she had yet to buy. And even though she was, well, naked, she still looked better-dressed than a goodly number of slovenly shoppers.
All in all, seeing that dog in the supermarket actually improved my shopping experience. At least until I tried to get past the chardonnay display.
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