The Bone Identity

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.