Just a Bar Dog

In Going on walks, Going to bars on July 3, 2011 at 7:00 am

I think there should be bars for dogs.

On our walks, I try to go into the bars onFourth Street(there are five of them in my little city), not just for a couple of pets, but to be lifted onto a stool where I can sit for a spell.

Typically, Shelley tugs on my leash, urging me on, but I dig in my paws. I’m staying! Heads turn, and I hear, “Isn’t she cute?” I scoot onto the bar patios to make my rounds, stopping at each set of high heels or tennis shoes to get pets. And it works.

Sometimes the brushing over my fur is rough.

Some of it is quick, almost as if an obligation to pet me and get it over with.

A few of them slide smooth hands along my back, making me feel like a cat as I arch my back into the ecstasy of being touched.

“She’s so soft,” they say.

If I can stay just a little while to get to know the petters, I get a small number of kisses, or I give them.

I could be the bar dog who gets attention every time I go out. I could stay for awhile, going up to each person in the bar to get their pets, their stroking of my ego. I wouldn’t need drink, like humans, just the sense that I was somewhere I belonged.

It’s my way of seeking compliments, of hearing that I’m cute. That I matter.

  1. aw, you matter more than you know. getting to see you and Shelley is a high point of my day, thanks and don’t forget that. woof!

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