It’s been brought to my attention that the entire world needs a lesson in dog etiquette.
I’m sure my frustration has more than a little to do with living in one of the most densely populated cities in the country, or it might have everything to do with the fact that people turn into complete and utter loons when they’re within ten feet of a dog.
Dogs are cute. I agree.
But can you not act like you left your brain on the subway when my dog and I are trying to, oh, I don’t know, walk down the sidewalk?
Allow me to introduce for your consideration a few simple suggestions that will help us dog owners and non-dog owners (and even some fellow dog owners–what is wrong with you?!) coexist peacefully in this world of ours.
Don’t approach my dog by sprinting toward us.
Don’t approach my dog by leaning directly over him as he’s frantically jumping toward your face.
Don’t approach my dog uninvited and then scream like you’re being murdered when he returns your advances.
Don’t let your toddler, who is adorable but can barely take two steps without falling on his ass, approach my dog.
When you ask if your kid can pet my dog and I say ‘no, sorry!’ because it’s his first walk of the day and he’s going bonkers over being outside of the apartment, don’t decide that it’s fine for your kid to pet my dog anyway.
If you’re a postman, delivery man, friend, significant other, ex-significant-other or booty call who’s waiting to get into the building, don’t attempt to squeeze your body and whatever item you’re carrying (which, on at least one occasion, has been a bicycle) through the doorway at the same time as my dog and me. I promise you, you’ll get into the building. I’ll even help you make it happen if you’ll wait for five fucking seconds.
This one… I have a special fury over this one. The chicken bones. This one isn’t so much about dogs as it is about being, like, a moderately decent human being that lives among other human beings in a functioning society. Who are the people that are discarding chicken bones on the sidewalk?!
I’ve never experienced this until we moved to Manhattan, but I swear Bo swoops down and grabs a chicken bone off the ground seemingly out of thin air at least once a week. I then have to pry it from his jaws while yelling “LEAVE IT!” which, despite how fun it sounds, doesn’t make the list of my top ten things to do in public.
The chicken bone problem is so mystifying to me because it requires, first of all, that a person or people be eating chicken wings on a city street. I can barely eat a chicken wing while sitting down and leaning over a table with a plastic bib tucked into my shirt, but apparently there’s an entire segment of the population that can eat them while strolling down the sidewalk or waiting for the bus (there must be a market somewhere for this kind of talent).
And, it’s doubly mystifying because this situation also requires that person to then throw the chicken bone that they just finished gnawing on onto the public sidewalk. It’s Manhattan. There’s a trash can every three feet. Were you literally raised in a cave? I just… I have no words.
Now I’m getting all heated, but I have one more thing we have to address before I leave the podium end this post.
When I’m bent over at the waist, doing my best to reach the ground without putting my backside on full display for passing traffic with my dog’s leash and my apartment keys in one hand and an inside-out grocery bag stretched over the other, for the love of God, can you not choose this as the optimal time to approach my dog? I. Have. Poop. In. My. Hand.
And I’m two seconds away from tossing it at you.
Ahh. I feel better now. I’m so glad we could all agree on this.
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