Never Accept Cookies from a Whiskered Old Lady

The other day, Bojangles and I were enjoying an outing at the off-lease dog park. The sun was shining, the air was mild, and the snow was melting into nice, mucky mud which (as any dog owner knows) is doggy heaven.

Bo made fast friends with an over-sized Beagle-ish looking dog who stuck by our side as we romped and splashed through the mud along the trail.  

Two (regular-sized) beagles came bounding up to greet us, followed by a lumbering, elderly woman with a whiskered chin.

"Are these your Beagles?" I asked.

"Well...that one there," she pointed at one of the dogs "is a purebred Beagle, but that other one is part Jack Russell." She shook her head in disgust.

"Oh?"  I inquired, "Not a good mix?"

"Oh! He's got the devil in 'im, that's for sure!"

She reached into a pocket of her massive parka and pulled out a dog treat. "Here," she said handing it to me, "a cookie for your fella."

"Thank you!"  I smiled at her then called Bojangles to me. As he returned to my side, then sat in his very best I'm-a-good-doggy pose awaiting the treat which I held temptingly above his nose, I noticed the old woman was staring at him with a look of disdain on her face. Now . . . I'll admit Bo was a fine mess of orange and white fluffiness tinged with wet mud, but still, who couldn't love his sweet Brittany face grinning up at me as he awaited his treat.

"That's your dog?!"  she exclaimed. "I thought this here Beagle was yours. I meant that cookie for him." And with that, she snatched the dog treat out of my fingers and gave it to the over-sized Beagle who had been keeping us company. I could not believe it. She took Bojangles' treat away! Because he wasn't a Beagle! My dog had been discriminated against on account of his breed!

To borrow an expression of my mother's, "I was right flabbergasted," but I shrugged it off and we went merrily on down the trail (minus the over-sized Beagle who recognized a good thing when he saw one and was now sticking close to the old woman with her cookie-filled pockets).

So. . . there is a lesson in all of this and as best as I can make out, the lesson is this: never accept dog cookies from a chin-whiskered, Beagle-loving old woman in a giant parka  (unless your dog happens to be a Beagle, in which case I'm sure it's fine to accept her cookies).