My Dog Sees Mean People

My dog Lola has a secret power. She can see directly into the soul of any human being. She can discern the content of your character in the time it takes me to learn your name. This is both extremely helpful and slightly awkward. As most people are fundamentally decent she either ignores them, explores the aroma of their shoes or seeks their affection with an adorably upturned face and wagging tail. Every once in a while though, she takes an instant dislike to someone. (If you fail the Lola test - no offense - but I don't want to be around you either.) As our daily travels take us through the mean streets of the Central City, her second sight makes for some very enlightening encounters.

Shortly after My Man and I moved downtown we breakfasted a familia at JJ's Sandwich Shop - a fave cafe of ours with sidewalk seating. Lola, excited as always to be on an outing, lay next to Man's chair, quietly guarding her beloved pack. A homeless man approached us and tried to befriend her.

"Hey, little dog. What you doin'?"

She firmly rejected his advances, moving swiftly away from him and turning her side toward him - a protective move that translates roughly as, "I don't like you. Not one little bit. I know I'm super-cute but get away from me now or I will turn mean."

He didn't get the message and took a step toward her. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that," he said with a hardness in his tone that made me strangely anxious. She darted as far in the other direction as the leash tethering her to the chair would allow and resumed her defensive pose - this time adding a threatening growl to help make her point. Undeterred, he moved again in her direction, extending a hand.

(Friendly tip: When someone clearly hates you, don't put parts of your body in their face.)

Her growling now intensified to the point where most people would show her their palms and back away slowly. But not this guy. He was on a depraved mission. He kicked it up a notch by attempting to touch her head (a critical error when dealing with any dog. I am amazed at how few people understand that dogs, like people, don't like total strangers touching them on the head.) and the growl became an angry bark.

The angry bark is the final warning Lola gives you. If you don't take the warning, you are an idiot. My Man intervened.

"You should really leave her alone."

So what does he do? He takes off his black leather jacket, reeking of the piss-soaked gutter and his own dark rage, and shoves it authoritatively in her face. She responds by racing back to the other extreme of her leash zone, facing him, hunkering down, baring her teeth and barking like a chained-up, junkyard dog.

"Look, she obviously doesn't want anything to do with you," My Man offered, nearing the end of his own patience.

The guy turned angry cold eyes on him, inquiring, "And why is that?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask her?"

The guy responded by shoving his jacket into her snout again, this time adding an ugly command: "Smell it."

She did not smell it. She barked with utter rage, leaping at him with little jerking movements that signal the beginning of her attack mode.

I was terrified. How could he stand to be so close to such naked aggression? How violent was his day to day existence that he was able to bear the very real possibility of teeth ripping at his flesh?

"Smell it," he repeated, determined to bend her to his will.

"Look! Buddy!," My Man snapped - all done dealing with this guy. "You're bothering my dog. Go somewhere else."

"Well," he replied with all the wounded pride of a snubbed debutante, "I will do that." And he gathered his jacket protectively around him and walked away, muttering to himself.

I felt bad for him. I wished he had some idea of how to make friends. I wished his life were not so unforgivingly difficult. But Lola was untroubled by such thoughts. She resumed her post, excited and proud of herself, tail wagging extra hard.

She's not judging you. She can't help it if there's darkness in your soul. She's just doing her job.