At the pet store I work at, dogs are allowed if they’re well-behaved. While technically the policy says all dogs need to be on leash, our boss believes that a dog that can’t behave on leash is more trouble than a Good Boy who isn’t.

A woman came up to my counter with her hands full of supplies, and an obedient dog trotting exactly half a step behind her. The dog had a chew bone in his mouth. Just carrying it. They waited in line; the dog was sitting exactly behind her with his bone, and he was truly one of the best-behaved dogs I have ever seen.

Then we get to checking her out.

Me: “Alright, that’s the cans and litter. Now, if you could just give me the bone, I’ll add that to the total.”

Lady: “What bone?”

Me: “The bone your dog has? Ma’am, it’s been in his mouth. We can’t take it back.”

Lady: “What dog?”

Me: *Points.* “Your dog.”

The lady turned to look behind her.

The dog wagged its tail. 

The lady turned back to me.

Me: “Is that not your dog?”

Lady: “This is not my dog. I have a cat.”

From the SINGLE FURTHEST other side of the store, we hear a man shout:

Man: “Stella! Where are you, girl?”

The lady and I watched as this dog put her bone down with the grace that humans reserve for grandma’s good china, and announced herself with a single, sharp bark:

Stella: “Arf!”

And after all that, after Stella’s actual owner had come to the front desk and agreed to purchase the bone, as the lady, who was a completely random CAT PERSON, took her things to walk outside, Stella once again got up, ignored her owner’s calling, and followed this lady outside, exactly half a step behind.

I work in a department store connected to a mall. A woman is buying a small item at my counter. She has a huge designer bag on one shoulder and a smaller bag on the other. She’s being subtle, but I spot her take a small piece of biscuit from the small bag and place it into the big bag. I just about make out the tiniest of snouts reach out to eat it.

Me: “Madam, do you have a dog in there?”

Customer: *Going red.* “Sorry! I know you’re not allowed dogs in here, but I just can’t bear leaving them at home, and—”

Me: “—Madam, dogs aren’t allowed in the supermarket on the ground floor. Well-behaved dogs on leashes are allowed on all the floors above that.”

Customer: “Really?!”

Me: “Haha, yes, really!”

She doesn’t hesitate. She places the huge bag on the ground and reveals the tiniest puppy Pomeranian I’ve ever seen.

Me: “Oh my God! So cute!”

And then another Pom wanders out of the bag. Now I know why she said ‘them’ when referring to them earlier.

But then out comes another.

And another.

Admittedly, this bag was huge, and these puppies are TEENSY TINY, but she had four of them in there!

She lines them all up orderly, all leashed up and wearing cute little harnesses, and says:

Customer: “Come on, kiddos! You’re going to help mummy pick out a new dining set!”

Related:
Pomerania-Mania

My husband is just about to start a new job abroad, coming home for one week every month. We’ve had to put moving house on hold, and I’ve had to delay my lifelong dream to get a dog. We’ve both agreed that this is a great opportunity for his career, and the job market isn’t good enough to argue. But it still sucks. While he’s packing to leave, we had the following conversation.

Me: “I’m going to miss you when you’re away.”

Husband: “No, you won’t, you’ll replace me in the first week.”

Me: “You know I don’t have time for that. Where would I even look for a replacement?”

Husband: “At the animal shelter?”

For a bit of context: my family lives in a row home, and we petitioned for a handicap spot in front of our house because both of my parents have mobility problems. We got the spot, but there’s a big honkin’ tree right in front of our house that blocks the opening of the passenger side doors. (Yes, it should have been taken out before they put the signs up. We are WELL aware.) When it comes time for us to go out, my dad (the only driver) has to pull the car forward into a sort of double-parked position to make room for us to open the passenger doors and get in, so we stand on the curb while we wait.

Now, on to today’s episode of “how can life mess with me this time”.

I was getting ready to go to work, standing on the curb while my dad moved the car into a position where I could get into it. While waiting for him to go through his routine of “get in, start car, scroll through fifty radio stations on his phone until he finds the same five songs he likes”, I hear some rustling in the tree above my head. I don’t think much of it, because it’s a little windy outside.

Then I hear a crack above my head, and two things fall and land on me.

The first is a thin branch, not very long but very fragile, doing no damage and kind of just rolling down my back.

The second is a big, fuzzy, freaked-out squirrel, landing directly on my head and scrambling around on my head, my shoulders, and my arms.

So, my dad gets to enjoy the lovely view of me doing some sort of macabre interpretation of the Macarena with a hot cup of coffee and a purse with a squirrel using me as its own personal climbing wall.

It eventually jumped off of me and scampered off, leaving me with a handful of red scratches on my face and neck that drew a bit of blood. My arms were at least safe because of my jacket, but my coffee was now all over my clothes. I looked like I had been attacked by a cat with an attitude problem.

I took one look at my dad, who was cackling like a madman in the car, took out my phone, and told work that I needed to go get checked out because I had been accosted by a squirrel.

It would have been a lot better if my boss hadn’t started laughing too.

Customer: “Where are your puppies?”

Me: “We don’t sell puppies, ma’am. We sell supplies that a puppy would need and dog food.”

Customer: “But you’re a pet store!”

Me: “Yes, and we sell things for pets. We don’t sell the pets.”

Customer: “Since when?”

Me: “Since the New York Puppy Mill Pipeline Law, which prohibits the sale of dogs, cats, and rabbits in New York pet stores, went into effect on December 15, 2024. This store stopped doing that a couple of years earlier, though.”

Customer: “So how do I get my son a puppy for Christmas?”

Me: “Well, we have adoption drives here every weekend, and we can also refer you to—”

Customer: “—adoption? No. I want to buy one. From a store. That way I can return it after Christmas, after my son gets bored with it.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am so happy to tell you that people like you are the reason this law exists. Now get the f*** out of my store before I start being impolite.”