Carla went to Costco with her friend Amy and our blind
Cocker Spaniel, Lilly. Never one to be shy, Carla plunked Lilly into a shopping
cart and pushed her into the lobby. That's where a highly trained security
professional stopped them. With pants tucked tightly into his boots and his gig line straight, the conversation went something like this:
Security pointing to Lilly: “Is she allowed to be in here?”
Carla: “You don't know?”
Security: “Well, is she a seeing eye dog?”
Carla: “I'm not blind. I'm looking at you. I can see you, and I'm pushing this cart.”
Security: “Well is she a service dog?”
Carla: “She's a COMFORT dog!”
Security: “That’s OK then, but you'll have to exit and re-enter through those doors down there”
The doors he indicated allowed the same access to the store as the doors where Carla was standing and speaking with the highly-trained security person.
Oh well, that little episode aside, at least some people do understand the simple need to push a sweet, overweight blind bitch around in a shopping cart without judgement from the Po Po. A kindred spirit approached as Carla was strolling down one of the isles. Accompanied by the loud electric hum of her motorized scooter, a little old lady rolled up next to Carla and announced knowingly:
“I won't pet your dog while she's working!”
(Clearly she was not, although Lilly was quite busy, processing olfactory information, listening to Carla's voice, and enjoying the ride.)
Carla: “OK...”
Wondering why Carla needed a “service dog” the lady asked:
“What do you have?”
Carla replied: “PTSD!” (That's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, of course, and Carla just pulled it out of the air for the lady but it was obvious that the lady had no clue what PTSD was anyway.)
The lady smiled sweetly and with a conspiratorial wink replied: “perfect!”.
When Carla and Amy left the store, the security professional was still at his post, legs open stance, hands folded behind. He was ready for anything while keeping everyone in the store safe from run-of-the-mill non-working dogs entering as if they owned the place.
He tipped his cap to the ladies as they left, acknowledging that as far as security was involved, the two of them were simpatico.
Security pointing to Lilly: “Is she allowed to be in here?”
Carla: “You don't know?”
Security: “Well, is she a seeing eye dog?”
Carla: “I'm not blind. I'm looking at you. I can see you, and I'm pushing this cart.”
Security: “Well is she a service dog?”
Carla: “She's a COMFORT dog!”
Security: “That’s OK then, but you'll have to exit and re-enter through those doors down there”
The doors he indicated allowed the same access to the store as the doors where Carla was standing and speaking with the highly-trained security person.
Oh well, that little episode aside, at least some people do understand the simple need to push a sweet, overweight blind bitch around in a shopping cart without judgement from the Po Po. A kindred spirit approached as Carla was strolling down one of the isles. Accompanied by the loud electric hum of her motorized scooter, a little old lady rolled up next to Carla and announced knowingly:
“I won't pet your dog while she's working!”
(Clearly she was not, although Lilly was quite busy, processing olfactory information, listening to Carla's voice, and enjoying the ride.)
Carla: “OK...”
Wondering why Carla needed a “service dog” the lady asked:
“What do you have?”
Carla replied: “PTSD!” (That's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, of course, and Carla just pulled it out of the air for the lady but it was obvious that the lady had no clue what PTSD was anyway.)
The lady smiled sweetly and with a conspiratorial wink replied: “perfect!”.
When Carla and Amy left the store, the security professional was still at his post, legs open stance, hands folded behind. He was ready for anything while keeping everyone in the store safe from run-of-the-mill non-working dogs entering as if they owned the place.
He tipped his cap to the ladies as they left, acknowledging that as far as security was involved, the two of them were simpatico.
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