(I work in a grooming salon inside a popular pet supply store. It’s about two or three minutes before the store closes, but I’ve just closed the salon and am checking out with a bag of cat food before I head home. At the register next to me, I overhear a conversation.)

Customer: “I recently bought a fish here, but it died, and I would like to buy this fish now for the same price as I got the last one.”

Cashier: *looks at the receipt she shows him* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the fish you had is not the same as this fish. This species of fish is a little more expensive.”

Customer: “Look. This is the third time I’ve wasted my time and gas coming down here. I want this fish for a dollar.”

Cashier: “Ma’am, this is not the same species of fish. I can’t sell it to you at the same price as another species.”

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager.”

(I had to leave right after that, and I have no idea what the manager did. I was just taken aback that a woman walked in right before closing and demanded a fish for a dollar for absolutely no reason.)

(While my enormously large mountain dog looks like an actual teddy bear and is extremely gentle and well-behaved, he likes his personal space and doesn’t care for strangers’ attention. Therefore, I never take him to public places if I can avoid it. On this day, however, I am forced to take a two-hour train ride with him. In an effort to get strangers to keep their distance, I dress my dog in his custom yellow harness that has the words, “DO NOT TOUCH,” written on it in large black letters. Besides that, he has a yellow ribbon – international symbol for “I need space” – tied to his leash. At the train station, we wait calmly in the furthest corner of the platform until the coast is clear. As we make our way toward the pet car, I see faces in a different car pressed against the window, staring at us. I ignore it, get in, and find our designated seats: a normal aisle seat for me, and a low platform where the window seat would normally be for the dog. I spread the dog’s blanket on his seat, and he settles down with his head on my lap. I casually stroke his ears, and as I wait for the ticket inspector, I rest my eyes for a moment. Out of nowhere, I feel air move around me, and the warm weight of my dog’s head on my lap is suddenly gone. I open my eyes to see a mother with two young children, one of who is eagerly trying to reach the dog over my lap.)

Me: *blocking the access to the dog much as I can with my body* “Whoa, hey! Don’t do that.”

Strange Mother: “My kids want to pet the dog.”

Me: “Sorry, he doesn’t like to be touched by str—”

Strange Mother: *scoffs* “That’s not true. I saw you petting him just now.”

Me: “As I was saying, he doesn’t like to be approached or touched by strangers. I’m sure you can see the large text on his harness and that he has pulled as far away from you as possible.”

Strange Mother: “Nonsense. All dogs like to be petted. I don’t understand why you’re being like this. My kids have a long trip ahead of them! Just let them pet the dog already!”

Me: *thinking to myself, “Are you for real?!” but trying to avoid a conflict and making a scene* “He does not want strangers to touch him. Many dogs don’t. I’m afraid you’ll need to find something else to do to pass the time.”

Strange Child: “Muuuuum, I want to cuddle the doggy!”

Me: “Sorry, sweetie, you can’t.”

Strange Mother: ”Yes, you can. Just call for the dog like this.”

(The mother suddenly lunges at my dog, almost punching me in the process, and starts going, “Here, doggy, doggy,” aggressively at him. The dog lets out a startled growl. The mother shrieks and jumps back. Her children start crying. Everyone is now staring at us.)

Me: *in complete disbelief* “What the h*** are you doing?”

Strange Mother: “The dog tried to bite me!”

Me: “He certainly did not.”

Strange Mother: “Liar! That dog is vicious! How could you bring such a beast on public transport?!”

Me: *getting mad despite myself* “Are you kidding me? The dog was minding his own business when you came here, all entitled, acting like he is some toy for your kids to play with. I asked you way more nicely than you deserved to leave him be. You basically assaulted us both, and now you think you’re the victim because you got growled at? Most other dogs would have taken a bite out of you for doing something that stupid!”

Strange Mother: “You can’t talk to me like that!”

Me: “I can, and I will. You need to leave.”

(The mother threw a few insults at me, and then finally grabbed her wailing children and left the car. It took a good ten minutes of distractions and several treats for my dog to stop panting anxiously and to calm down, but thankfully the rest of our journey was uneventful. I’d had my share of people overly eager to pet my dog before, but never someone who wouldn’t take a polite no for an answer. Even though my dog seems unscarred by the incident, these days I am even more reluctant to take him out in public. The thing that gets me the most about the whole thing, though, is the idea that a mother would insist on letting her small children approach a large, unfamiliar dog when specifically warned the dog was not friendly.)

(I work in the grooming salon at a popular pet supply store. It’s a fairly normal day, not too busy, so when a walk-in comes in I’m more than happy to help. The salon requires all pets over four months of age to have updated rabies vaccinations for any and all services; if the rabies vaccines have expired or aren’t in our system yet, we require pet parents to bring proof of rabies paperwork. For legal purposes, a rabies tag isn’t acceptable for documentation.)

Me: “All right, it says here that your dog’s rabies vaccines expired in May of last year. If those vaccinations are up to date now, we’ll need proof of rabies paperwork before we can get him checked in.”

Customer: “Well, they should be all up to date. I didn’t bring paperwork with me. I’ve never been asked for it before.”

(This is clearly not true, since the past vaccine dates are in the system. Nonetheless, I offer to call her vet’s office to get verbal confirmation over the phone. I’m on hold for about fifteen minutes, which is fine, but at the end the vet just confirms that the rabies shots have not been administered since last time and the dogs are overdue by a year. I tell the woman this.)

Customer: *getting visibly angry* “No, they’re not expired! I just have to get them done again! So, what, because those shots aren’t up to date, he just has rabies now? This is bulls***! I’ve never been asked for rabies paperwork before! If you change your policies, you need to tell your customers! You know what? We’ll see about this!”

(She marched out of the salon and into the store. When my salon manager got to work that day, she told me that the woman had bypassed speaking to a store manager and actually called corporate to complain. Nothing came of it; the policy’s always been that way. I was just doing my job.)

(My dog is a pretty large rescue pit-bull who would never hurt a person, but we believe that he was an escapee from a dog-fighting ring. We found him lost and wandering, and the vet said his injuries were indicative of fighting. He is very aggressive toward any other animal he’s near. We counteract this by only ever letting him run in our fenced backyard, and keep him harnessed when we walk him. He’s only ever gotten loose once or twice, never with serious consequences. Other people in my neighborhood take no such precautions, usually letting their dogs run loose in their front yards, but generally their dogs will stay in the yards, and if I cross the street, I’m fine. However, one night, a loose dog runs up across the street to me.)

Me: “Hey, excuse me, hey! Please come get your dog!”

Neighbor: *sitting on her porch, not getting up* “Oh, it’s okay; he’s friendly!”

Me: *straining to keep my growling dog from jumping on the smaller one, trying to walk away* “Mine isn’t! My dog is very aggressive. Please come get your dog!”

Neighbor: “Oh, it’s fine; he’s very friendly!”

Me: “MINE ISN’T! COME GET YOUR DOG!”

Neighbor: “Gosh, all right.”

(She slowly stands up and starts making her way down the porch steps. At this point, my dog is barking like crazy, snapping, and generally doing everything he can to get at this other dog, who’s still coming towards him. I put myself in between them to keep them apart, and am yelling at my dog to stop. My dog is still trying to snap at the other dog, and the other dog is trying to get around me, nipping at my ankles as he does so, hurting me. The neighbor is standing in her yard, watching.)

Me: “HURRY UP AND GET YOUR F****** DOG!”

Neighbor: “They’re so close; I don’t want to get in the middle of it!”

Me: “GET YOUR DOG RIGHT NOW!”

(My dog lunges, and I use my shin to push the other dog out of his reach, figuring it’s better if he gets shoved a little than if he needs stitches later on.)

Neighbor: “Did you just kick my dog?!”

Me: “YOU NEED TO COME AND GET YOUR DOG, OR MINE IS GOING TO BITE HIM!”

(She finally walks across the street and grabs her dog’s collar. The dog is squirming away from her, still trying to get at my dog. I’m still trying to keep distance between the two, feeling pretty angry and upset at this point, when she drops this gem.)

Neighbor: “It’s just taking a minute, since I don’t have his leash.”

Me: “WELL, WHY IS YOUR DOG OUTSIDE WITHOUT HIS LEASH?!”

Neighbor: “He’s so well-behaved, he doesn’t need one!”

(The dogs are finally separated, so at this point, I turn to her and actually manage to speak rationally.)

Me: “Running up to strange dogs is not well-behaved. I’m not the only person in this neighborhood with an aggressive dog, and you’re going to get yours killed if you don’t keep him restrained. You need to keep him on a leash, and when you hear someone say, ‘My dog is aggressive; come get yours,’ you need to understand that it doesn’t matter how friendly yours is. You need to keep him under control.”

Neighbor: “Well, maybe you need to keep yours under better control!”

Me: “I did. I kept him on a leash and away from your yard when I saw your dog was loose. Your dog ran up to us, your dog attacked us, and your dog bit me.” *holds up my leg so that she can see the blood on my ankles from her dog’s bite* “I could call animal control and have them take him away right now, and you would be entirely at fault, but I’m not going to do that. What we’re going to do, is you’re going to put your dog inside, I’m going to take mine home, and then you’re going to give me a copy of your dog’s shot records so I know whether or not I need a rabies vaccine. And then you are never going to let your dog run loose in your front yard again, all right?”

Neighbor: “That’s not fair! My dog isn’t sick, and he would never bite you! I think your dog bit you; he’s so aggressive.”

Me: “Mine doesn’t bite humans. And he was in front of me the whole time. These bites are on the backs of my legs, and they came from your dog. So, if I do need a vaccine, you’re paying for it.”

Neighbor: “This isn’t my fault!”

Me: “YES, IT IS! You let your dog run wild, you didn’t come down to get him the second he left your yard — and by the way, him running off-leash in an open yard is illegal, too — and you are responsible for what he’s done!”

Neighbor: “Your dog was the one who started it, though! If he had just been friendlier–“

Me: “THAT DOESN’T MATTER! My dog is on a leash! The law says I did my part to properly restrain my dog, and you didn’t do yours! Now, go put your dog inside and get me a copy of those records! I’ll be back in ten minutes for them!”

(When I come back without my dog, the woman has locked herself in her house and won’t open the door for me. Ultimately, she calls the police on me for trespassing. Here’s how that conversation goes.)

Officer #1: “Ma’am, please step away from the door.”

Me: *doing as instructed* “Is everything all right, sir?”

Officer #1: “We’ve received a call that you’re trespassing and harassing the owner of this house.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not trying to harass her. Her dog bit me, and I’ve just been asking her if I can get a copy of the shots records so I know whether or not I need any treatment.”

Officer #1: “I don’t see a dog out here.”

Me: “It was about half an hour ago. I was walking my dog, and hers ran up and attacked us. The dogs weren’t injured, but her dog nipped at my ankle and broke skin.”

(I hold out my ankle again, but I cleaned and bandaged the bite, so it’s not readily visible. The officer’s partner goes up and asks the woman to step outside. She does and points at me.)

Neighbor: “That’s her! She’s been ringing my doorbell for hours!”

Officer #2: “Ma’am, she says that your dogs had an altercation?”

Neighbor: “Yes! Her dog got so aggressive, barking and snapping at mine! He’s dangerous.”

Me: “My dog was on a leash; hers was loose!”

Officer #1: “We’ll take your statements separately, all right?”

([Officer #1] takes me down to the curb, while [Officer #2] stays with her on her porch. As I’m giving my statement, the neighbors from across the street, the ones whose house I was in front of when the dog followed us up, come over.)

Neighbor #2: “Is this about what happened with the dogs earlier?”

Officer #1: “Did you see what happened?”

Neighbor #2: “Yes, and so did my husband. We were sitting in the front room, and we saw the whole thing.”

(She pointed to the house, gesturing to her big, bay windows that would have given her and her husband a perfect view. The officer asked me to stand aside while he took their statements, as well, which corroborated mine. Then he asked me to take off the bandage so that they could take a picture of the dog bite, and asked if I want to press charges. I told them that if the neighbor would just give me the shots records and promise to keep her dog restrained I wouldn’t. He relayed the message, and the neighbor still refused to hand over the records, so instead, the officers charged her, took the dog, and got a subpoena for the dog’s shots records, which were several months out of date. The dog was quarantined and ultimately found to not be rabid, and since I was up to date on my tetanus shot, I didn’t need further treatment, but the neighbor was charged with several misdemeanors and had to give the dog up. I felt bad about that; it wasn’t the dog’s fault its owner was an idiot, and I made sure to go to the hearing and testify that I didn’t think that the dog was actually dangerous. The court decided not to put it down, but instead to put it up for adoption. The whole time, the owner was yelling that this wasn’t her fault, so much so that she was removed from the hearing. The worst part is, when she was testifying as to what happened, she told the story exactly how it happened, and still didn’t seem to understand that it was her fault that her dog was running loose and unrestrained, and that keeping him on a leash was her responsibility.)

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(I work as a groomer in a large pet retail store that also offers grooming services. One day, a woman comes in with a Pomeranian. She shows me a picture of the same dog with a slightly different cut.)

Customer: “I want my dog to look like this but with two differences: don’t touch the feet — I like the ‘Grinch’ feet — and don’t touch the mane.”

(The cut is very simple so I agree. We fill out the paperwork with the exact details, and she signs it and leaves. When the dog is done, I call her. She returns, and has obviously been to the gym because her hands are taped up like a boxer. I go to get the dog, and as I am walking out, I notice that there is a small patch of stray hairs that I missed when trimming his tail. This happens from time to time and is a simple fix.)

Me: *to my coworker* “Hey, can you get these stray hairs I missed on his tail while I hold him?”

Customer: *in an inhumanly high-pitched voice* “WHAT THE F***?! WHAAAAAT THE F***!? HOW COULD YOU CUT HIS TAIL?”

Me: “Ma’am, the instructions sa—”

(She starts clenching her taped-up hands and shaking them.)

Customer: *not so high-pitched or crazed* “How could you… Wh… Wh… Why would you cut his tail?”

Me: “I’m sorry; it is standard practice unless we are specifically asked not to.”

Coworker: “Pomeranians usually have their tails trimmed during grooming.”

Customer: “But he’s not an ordinary dog, and we have pictures tomorrow. Now we can’t…” *again with the banshee scream* “WHAT THE F***?! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I… CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!”

(This goes on for several minutes and by this time, it has drawn a crowd of people from all over the store to stare through the glass doors and see what’s going on. My coworker and I finally calm her down and she leaves. We are both dumbstruck and start discussing it. I have my back to the door.)

Coworker: “She’s coming back.”

Me: “Don’t even try—”

Coworker: “No, I’m serious. She’s coming back.”

(I prepare myself and turn around as the customer is walking in. I don’t even get a word out.)

Customer: *extremely happy and friendly* “Other than the tail, you did a great job!”

(She puts a $20 tip on the counter and walks out.)

Me: “Whatever she took when she went out to her car, I want some.”