Please don’t talk to me, I know you just want to pet the dog.
It’s okay, just kindly pet Lassie and get on your merry way so I can go on mine, and collect my chipotle bowl-value wage. You don’t have to ask me about my day or –god forbid– mention how nice the weather is. I know the sun is shining; it’s been burning the back of my neck all afternoon.
But if you do decide to talk to me, don’t make it obvious I’m thirdwheeling.
It’s even worse when you’re all “Oh my god, hi beautiful! Hi precious! Whose the goodest boy? Let me give you all the love and pets!” to the Golden Doodle named Steve, and then when you happen to glance up and catch my ugly mug watching in a pitifully left out expression, coerce yourself to offer up a tepidly noncommittal, “oh, hello there.” If I had a tail, it wouldn’t be wagging.
Is it my dog you like? Or is it me?
Yes, you can pet my dog, but I know you just want my number. Alright, alright, you can have it, just ask! Or we could go out right now, this lil feller is off-leash certified.
Yes, I’m scooping the goods out of your lawn.
Don’t think I can’t feel you watching from the window to catch me in the act of leaving behind the dog’s what-have-you… have you no faith? I leave no turd behind, in fact why don’t you come walk with me for a bit.
Oh no, one of the dogs I’m walking bit you?
Maybe you shouldn’t have tugged on his ear and slapped his ass, if you did that to me I’d want to rip out your throat too. Wait, aren’t you that guy who got caught having an affair at a Coldplay concert? Get him Toto, do it for his wife and kids!
Oh no, my dog peed on your leg?
I should’ve told you she gets nervous around new people, and I do too… oh, I’m SO sorry, now that’s my bad…
I tried to avoid walking by you, but the dog pulled me right into your path.
Ohhhh my gawwwd, Georgia from highschool?!? I totally never wanted to see you again, but how are you??? Three kids and one on the way, huh? Hopefully that pesky habit of shit talking isn’t a dominant gene…
I wish I were the dog I’m walking.
Look at Oliver’s little Frenchy Bulldog legs just walk his curious mind between wonderfully novel sniff points. He has not a care in the world, and no stack of parking violation tickets waiting for him on the end table in his dog house… maybe I should try this sniffing thing out… ungh I forgot I was in Philly, maybe not.
This dog is pulling me down the street and everyone thinks I’m his bitch.
And a little one too.
Did my dog give consent to get his balls sniffed?
Look man, I don’t know if you heard about that whole #metoo movement, but my dog doesn’t want to be in that movie you’re producing. So stop sniffing his balls! He’s not gonna sniff yours anytime soon to get the role of Rin Tin Tin.
This dog has a nicer home than I do.
A Nespresso machine and an air purifier? Next time I pick up Pickles I’m gonna have an oat milk latte, take a nice, deep breath and scream it out.
Are these dog treats or human biscuits?
They’re bone shaped, but I’ve definitely seen these in the cookie aisle at Trader Joe’s.
I need a new job.
I want to move out of my mom’s basement, and have my weekends free again. Maybe I’ll finally settle down, become a corporate slave, and get my own dog.
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