Drama Dog!

In another chapter of "J doesn't look for Drama, but Drama looks for her!" we find ourselves in the university union, or as everyone else on campus calls it, "The University Center" or "The UC." It's finals time, and there are always lots of nice free things for students: fresh fruit, 5-minute massages, and my personal favorite - the dogs! They bring in these therapy dogs which basic function is to sit there while you pet them and chat with their owners, since petting a dog or cat is supposed to lower your blood pressure, calm you down, etc.

This is always something I enjoy doing, and this day was going to be no different.

Going to be.

As I walked up to the three dogs: a golden retriever, a hunting dog, and a border collie. I headed for the middle one, some type of hound dog with big floppy ears. The old woman began to talk about her dog, as they always do, and then said, "Hey, would you like to give her a treat?"

"Sure!" I said.

The woman then reached a hand into her pocket and began to pull out a plastic sandwich bag filled with tiny bits of kibble. Shaking slightly as she struggled to get it out, it suddenly jumped free and bits of kibble exploded all around.

I quickly picked up a few, as did the woman, as both the hunting dog, and the border collie next to it experienced buggy cartoon a-OOOO-ga eyes. The hunting dog began snuffling up the fallen treats with a startling gusto. The bordering border collie, realizing a fantasy-come-true moment, dived down to grab a few himself. That's when chaos ensued.

Just a couple inches from my face, the "therapy (hunting) dog" lunged forward at the border collie, with jaws a-snappin and a ferocious RAWR-RAWR-RAWR. The latter's owner jerked the collie back, stunned, and pretty pissed off. The old woman pulled her hunting dog back, apologizing profusely. The hunting dog continued to growl and snap, though more quietly, despite the woman's continued yanks on his leash. The border collie, who had just been fucked over for treats, just looked bummed. I sort of remained motionless in my squatting position, feeling awkward and somehow responsible.

I then emptied the couple of pieces of kibble still in my hand at the foot of the collie, saying soothingly, "Here baby, let me give you a few." It eagerly swallowed them while the owner glared at me and said, "I DON'T GIVE MY DOG TREATS."

Oops.

I pet the collie's head for a short bit, then self-consciously stood up and slinked off to the bookstore. A few minutes later while inside the store, I could hear that hunting dog's attack bark again. Uh oh. That can't be good. Again, a small whoosh of guilt shot through me.

Later that day, my colleague Jeff went to the union for his break. "Hey, did you see the dogs?" he said excitedly. "Um, yeah," I replied, "Uhh, how many dogs were there?"

"Two," he said.

*sigh* Oh well.