I live in a part of the country where there is a “strong men are tough” stigma. At the same time, there is an undercurrent of fear of dogs. I found a puppy who has grown into a beautiful and mild-tempered, medium-sized husky. Recently, I adopted a companion for him: seven-week-old chow. She is roughly four pounds, doesn’t know a stranger, and approaches everyone with a wiggling backside and a tongue ready for kisses.

I live on the second floor to the left of the stair landing with no other entrance or exit. It’s nine o’clock at night. I have just taken my fur babies out to do their business and we are circling back through the parking lot heading to our stairwell. I see ahead of us a carful of young men pull in and get out of their car. There are five of them and they look to be about six feet tall on average, in their early twenties, all walking in front of us, also clearly headed for our stairwell. 

I slow down a little to give them time to get upstairs and not feel like they are being followed. I am fairly confident they are going to see my neighbor, whose door is right in front of the landing. They get to the top and my small pack starts up the stairs. Rather than go into the apartment, all five assume positions around the landing. They hear us start up and turn to face us.

One man looks at my puppies.

Young Man #1: “Do they bite?”

I reply in as friendly a way as possible.

Me: “No, but the husky sheds, so clear a path if you don’t want fur all over you.” 

Instantly, the seas parted as they all pressed as far away from us as possible. I got to my door and started fumbling with my keys. These are both puppies, less than five months old, and still in training. I managed to get my door open and sent the husky in but accidentally dropped my four-pound ball-of-love’s leash. She instantly started her wiggle dance of friendship and clumsily started heading for these five LARGE grown men. 

As one, in perfect synchrony, they lept to attention from their chairs and lounge positions and RAN down the stairs! They didn’t stop at the stairs, though, and despite my regaining control before she was even to the edge of the landing, they got back in their car, and the next sound I heard was the squealing of tires as they peeled out of the parking lot!

To this day, I cannot figure out what terrified them so bad about something that would have fit inside their shoe or pocket.

The last sound after the tires was my laughter, which lasted for forty-five minutes.

Some local residents and I volunteer our time to pick litter around the local area. We used to meet up weekly, have competitions for the amount picked, plan out routes, report antisocial behaviour, etc.

Now, of course, it’s all through social media. We have our own page and keep in touch. Someone outside the group, a local resident, finds the page.

Resident: “Can my street be cleaned, please? It’s full of litter.”

Group Member: “Sure, where do you live?”

Resident: “It’s [Street way on the other side of town]; my house is [number].”

Group Member: “I’m sorry, but no one lives near there. If we get more volunteers who live that way, we will let you know. If you would like to volunteer, we can help you source bags and pickers.”

Resident: “This isn’t fair! I have as much right as anyone else. I can’t pick it up myself; I have a bad back.”

He went on and on and on. In the end, someone booted him out and set the page to private. People were understandably upset; this was something we were doing for free for our community, and for people to complain really lowers the mood.

My brother and his girlfriend are visiting a friend when their new puppy goes into heat. They don’t want her making a mess of the friend’s house, so [Brother] heads out to a nearby grocery store to get some baby diapers as he heard they were a good idea for dogs.

He gets to the aisle, and two other people are there. A woman is looking at diapers, and an older woman is looking at soap on the other side of the aisle. [Brother] realizes that he has no idea what size to get, so he calls his girlfriend, who stayed behind with the dog. She’s drunk.

Girlfriend: “You’re going to have to figure that out yourself.” *Hangs up*

So, [Brother] starts Googling what size baby diaper to get the dog. The old woman looking at soap comes over to my brother.

Old Busybody: “Was that your wife? You must be a young couple.”

Now, this is obviously none of her business in hindsight, but [Brother] likes to be nice and make conversation.

Brother: “My girlfriend, actually.”

But before he can explain anything else, the old busybody’s expression sours.

Old Busybody: “People like you are what’s wrong with the world!” *Stomps off*

Brother: *Bewildered* “But it’s for a dog!”

The other woman who was looking at diapers started laughing so hard, she had to take her mask off. The old busybody just glared and kept going.

[Brother] went home and told his girlfriend what had happened, and she laughed, too. She kind of wished she had gone, because, drunk or not, she would have sassed that old busybody up and down the aisle.

I was a very shy, overly sensitive child and it didn’t take much to upset me. I always tried very hard to be polite to adults because I didn’t like people being angry with me.

I was probably about seven or eight. It was in the evening, we were at home, and the phone rang. My father asked me to answer it, figuring it was probably one of our family members.

I picked up the receiver and said hello, only to hear a woman screaming.

Woman: “WHY DID YOU CALL ME?”

I immediately teared up because, again, I was a wimpy kid, and because this strange adult was yelling at me and I had no idea why. When I tried to explain that all I’d done was answer, she began to scream louder. I was pretty upset by this point and handed the phone to my father, sobbing that I didn’t know what was wrong.

My father was very angry himself and snapped into the phone

Father: “Lady, WE DIDN’T CALL YOU! YOU CALLED US!”

Woman: “WELL, WHY DID YOU ANSWER IT?”

My father immediately hung up on her and calmed me down, explaining that in situations like that, I had every right to be “rude” and hang up anyone, even an adult, who was behaving like that.

I’m going to meet my sister at a restaurant, and I have a service dog. She’s responsible for keeping me company for panic attacks and PTSD, which was brought on by my time in the military. It’s a time in my life which I normally don’t like to talk about, but it’s important to know for this story.

I enter the restaurant, and the hostess tells me that it will be a few minutes before a table opens up and I am welcome to wait until then. I notice a few people looking at my dog. My dog is a golden retriever, not particularly aggressive or unpredictable; normally, she’s a ball of sunshine. But today, someone decides to be rude about it. 

Man: “Hey, there’s no dogs allowed, buddy.”

Man’s Wife: “Honey, it’s a service dog. They have to allow them.”

Man: “This guy isn’t blind or deaf! He doesn’t need a freaking dog!”

Man’s Wife: “[Man], service dogs do more than help the blind or deaf. They can help with seizures, blood sugar, and so many other things.”

Man: “Hey, buddy, what do you have? Why do you supposedly ‘need’ a service dog?”

Man’s Wife: “[Man]! Don’t be rude!”

Me: “I served time in the army. I fought in a war. I have panic attacks and PTSD because I saw so much death and destruction and was forced to kill two men to save my own life and that of my squad members.”

I could feel myself starting to get worked up. My service dog laid her head on my leg and whined, and I took the pills my doctor prescribed and petted her until I calmed down. By then, my sister had arrived at the restaurant, and the man looked properly abashed. His wife told me that her husband was a major d**k, and that I was a hero and I was the reason why he was allowed to be a major d**k.