Last Friday I took my car into Lincoln Mercury's body shop to get an estimate and was met by my estimater Wanda, who was this delightful older lady who was familiar with labs as she had previously owned one. She was about to pet Her Royal Highness when I explained about the coat and how she was working and couldn't be distracted. Wanda was great. She immediately made eye contact with me and dropped her hand. When we went back into the shop and neared the administrative assistant's desk, Wanda called out to her, "This dog is working! You CANNOT pet her when she has her coat on!"
The administrative assistant startled and looked up at us, "OK."
Wanda said she would go back and do my estimate and then be right back. Evidently, she did some more PR work because in about 3 minutes a man can out and peered around the admin's desk and said, "Where's the dog we can't pet?"
When she came back, she gave me my estimate and never even asked for the jacket to come off. She was a sweet lady, so I took off HRH's coat and let her pet her. HRH even broke with decorum and gave her a big smackaroo in the face, something she hardly ever does.
And then there are the others...
But you do sometimes meet the whackadoos. Friday night at Crabby Bill's, I was telling Fred the story of Wanda and had just gotten HRH settled under the table when a customer from another table stands up and comes over to our table.
She stands at out table and says the following:
"I have a therapy dog. I am now going to take my left hand and put it under the table..." At this point she has thrown out her left hand a bit like Vanna White pointing out the letter "E" and is on a downward curve toward HRH underneath the table.
"Please don't." I say. "Berkeley is a working guide dog in training and she has her coat on and can't be petted when she is working."
Before I can go on to say anything else about how guide dogs in training are different from therapy dogs. The woman leaps into the air and runs back to her table.
OK. That was weird.
Then you have the nice ones
So I was at Target and couldn't find something. I went to talk with one of the sales ladies to ask her where it might be. There happened to be a piece of popcorn about 5 inches from her foot. Some outrageously messy person had been spewing popcorn all over the store. We had been avoiding popped kernels for the entire Target visit. But here we were faced with a kernel. I put HRH into a down stay and asked my question.
"She seems to be staring at me rather intently." The saleslady said with a laugh.
"Oh, it's not you. It's that piece of popcorn in front of you."
"Well, I'll take care of that!" She scooped up the popcorn and stuck it in her pocket. "No popcorn for you." She looked at me. "Popcorn isn't good for them," and smiled. Then she answered my question.
I like the nice ones. They balance the crazy ones.