This One Time At Starbucks

The Pug was sitting inside a red wagon with wooden sides and plastered with stickers like ‘Doggy Power!” and “I'm a puppy at heart", and other such nonsense. Judging by that and the amount of doggy things the woman had with her, including a bag that looked a lot like a diaper bag, and the way the lady's entire universe was circling around this mutt, I'd say this was her child. She was the type of woman, who, when asked about grandkids, she'd say, "This is your grandchild."

The front door swung open and a busload of young kids, between 6-10 years, tumbled into the shop with their moms close behind. The kids immediately see the dog in the wagon and go nuts, rushing over to pet it.

The dog lapped up the attention.

As the moms busied themselves ordering high-octane drinks for themselves and their already hyper kids, the shop’s manager walked through a side door. She asks why the dog is there. The lady’s response? “He’s a service dog.”

A Pug. In a red wagon. Posing as a service dog. Not a therapy dog, a full-on service dog. I snickered at the image of this pint-sized pup undergoing the rigorous training of locating misplaced items, fetching medication, opening and closing doors, providing balance, and other service-related tasks physically impossible for a Pug who measured 12" from the ground.

The dog lady sensed the skepticism. “He had an operation and can’t walk yet.”

Queue the silence and side eyes.

The manager explained she could get cited for health code violations if they stayed. But the lady, cool as a cucumber with an edge of snooty, remarked, “Okay, but I don't see the difference between kids and dogs.”

The line of mothers erupted with huffs, gasps, and an avalanche of opinions all directed toward the dog lady. The manager tried to intervene and reassure the moms that she would handle the situation, but there was no caging the birds.

One mom, overwhelmed with incredulity but unable to contain herself, blurted out, “Are you comparing dogs to children?!”

This started a back and forth of "all I'm saying is" statements from the lady and "but the fact is" from the moms, most of whom were now more interested in the scene than getting their orders in.

The dog lady lost her smugness and looked like she was being picked last during dodgeball. I felt bad for her. But then again, I had a feeling this wasn't new for her. Let's be real. Her "service dog" was in a wagon loaded with stickers, and he had his own diaper bag of supplies. That speaks of normalcy more than it does temporary.

While the dog lady continued to feed her dog the donut and getting picked on for implying that kids also violate health codes, I was secretly hoping that a real service dog would come in; a big, harnessed, graduated-top-of-his-class, all-business, no-pets-please, service dog, who could dutifully sit next to his owner while the Pug got wheeled out in a wagon with muffin crumbs stuck to his fur.

That didn't happen, of course.

The manager couldn't get the dog lady to leave, and the moms couldn't talk sense into her. You could tell they all wanted to strangle her and the lady just wanted to be left alone. She looked defeated but insisted on eating every, last piece of donut to her little precious; one piece for him, one piece for her until it was gone.

Then, and only then, did she get up, tuck him into his blanky, and left, pulling the wagon behind.