When someone asks why I hesitate to answer the phone at work, this is the story I tell.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Caller: “I need a cow.”

Me: “A… cow?”

Caller: *Scoffs* “Yeah, like moo. Horns, udders. A cow.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t sell cattle.”

Caller: “No. A cow.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t sell ‘a cow.’”

Caller: “Why not?”

Me: “We don’t house livestock. You could try an auction house; [Farming Company in the next town] might be able to direct you.”

Caller: “Well, you sell animals, right?”

Me: “We sell small animals. Rabbits, reptiles, rodents… not cattle.”

Caller: “That’s dumb.”

Me: “I’m sorry we don’t have what you’re looking for.”

Caller: “Why not?”

Me: *Fed up* “We don’t have a livestock license. We sell small pets, not large farm animals.”

Caller: “Well, how am I supposed to get a cow?”

Me: “As I said, there’s a farm supply store, or you could try an auction. I know there are farm shows going on all summer. Maybe ask a vet?”

Caller: “F*** you and your stupid store!” *Hangs up*

Related:
Don’t Have A Cow, Man, Part 3
Don’t Have A Cow, Man, Part 2
Don’t Have A Cow, Man

My neighbors have a small dog named Ollie who can get a little yappy. He only makes excessive noise when he needs something or is unhappy, from what I’ve seen. They take good care of him, so it’s not usually a problem.

Then, they have a baby. Ollie has always been comfortable being an indoor dog and only going outside for short walks. The neighbors start leaving him outside all day long once the baby comes, and Ollie is not at all happy with this. He yaps at their back door most of the day.

Instead of addressing the core issue, they just shout out the window, “Shut up, Ollie!” whenever he gets too loud.

Fast forward a year, and their baby is starting to talk. Care to guess what his first words are? 

That’s right, they are, “Shut up, Ollie!”

A neighbor’s dog, large but still a puppy, has slipped her collar. The dog is usually very well-behaved and has learned commands well. The neighbor is pretty friendly, laid back, and in control, so I am a bit surprised to see the dog running back and forth in the street as the young man chases after, swinging her leash and cursing and yelling at the dog to stop.

Of course, the dog thinks it is a great, fun game and keeps running, staying close but out of reach, and nearly getting hit by cars a couple of times. “Stop” is probably not a command that she’s been taught.

Me: “[Neighbor], stop and command [Dog] to ‘sit’ and ‘stay.’ She thinks you’re playing with her and she’ll keep running if you keep chasing her.

Neighbor: “She’s my dog and I’ll handle it my way. Butt out!”

As I watch, the “game” continues for several more minutes, the neighbor getting more and more frustrated and upset at his dog but still chasing after her and cursing and shouting. Finally, after the dog is nearly hit by another car, he stops running.

Neighbor: “[Dog], sit! Stay!”

The dog immediately sat, allowing the young man to walk right up and slip her collar back on and lead her back home.

Although it was hard not to say anything, I didn’t, as I was glad disaster was avoided and I didn’t want to antagonize the already upset young man. The next time I saw them, the dog was wearing a sturdy harness, and for several weeks after, the neighbor avoided eye contact with me.

Many years ago, my mom’s aunt and uncle had a dog named Tinker. They had a few kids, so Tinker got a lot of attention, until one day one of their kids got a new dog. Naturally, everyone started fawning over the new dog, and Tinker did not appreciate losing the spotlight to someone else.

One day, my great-uncle was pulling out of the driveway to head to work when he heard Tinker yelp in pain. He immediately stopped the car and got out and found Tinker lying down next to the car. Horrified, he took Tinker back inside and told the kids to keep an eye on Tinker because he still had to go to work. Of course, the kids spent all day fawning over their injured dog.

The workday ended and my great-uncle returned through a side door and went to the stairs to go change. Tinker was lying in the front hall by the stairs, so he tried to be quiet and took a different doorway so Tinker could rest. Because of this, Tinker didn’t notice he was home, so he had a clear view of Tinker getting up perfectly normally. Upon noticing him watching, Tinker quickly lay back down.

Suspicious, he asked one of the kids to call Tinker. Sure enough, Tinker got up as normal to run over, and then froze and dropped back down. It was too late, though, and the act was up.

Tinker had only pretended to be hit by the car to get showered with attention and love from the guilty family, all because Tinker was jealous of the new dog getting so much attention.

My mom says that her uncle called Tinker the smartest dog they’d ever had.

My mom has two dogs who are both spoiled absolutely rotten and too smart for their own good sometimes. They both particularly love Frosty Paws, a dog ice cream which seems to alternate between being very easy to find at local supermarkets and notoriously exclusive to certain big box stores, instead.

Usually, my mother is willing to try different shops to find the elusive treats, but with the current outbreak and family health concerns, it’s been near impossible. We can’t even mention the name in front of the dogs unless we want to deal with several minutes of dramatic doggie whining and begging.

Being a grocer and thus essential, it becomes my mission to find said ice cream. I am lucky enough to discover one box at a store near my work. The delivery, however, goes down like a covert operation as I place the treats in a lunch box so the dogs don’t see the packaging.

Stepdad: “What are you doing here?”

I hold up the lunch box while trying to keep it as far as possible from the dogs, who are very excited to see me.

Me: “I got them.”

Sister: “Them?”

I look between the dogs and the bag.

Me: “THEM.”

Stepdad: *Lightbulb moment* “You got FPs?”

Me: “It took three stores, but I got one box.”

Stepdad: “Oh, you are a f****** hero.”

We make our way into the kitchen where my mother joins in asking why I’ve shown up. The dogs, meanwhile, have mostly calmed down but are circling.

Stepdad: “She found FPs.”

Mom: “Seriously?! Oh, we’re gonna have happy puppies.”

She takes the lunchbox and attempts to stealthily unload the contents into the freezer as it took me some time to get to the house and they must refreeze.

Sister: “Wait, did you get the PB flavor?”

Me: “Beggars can’t be choosers, but yeah.”

Sister: “Oh, very happy puppies.”

Of course, then the dogs started losing their minds all over again because they caught sight of what Mom was unloading, and they proceeded to park their butts in front of the freezer and start up their Frosty Paws crying.

Happy ending: they were over the moon when they finally received their icy treats.