Wanted: A Small, Cute Dog
What is it about small, cute dogs? Why do they always take all the attention, and suck all the oxygen, out of a room?
I was reminded of this small, cute dog thing the other day when Sharon and I were having lunch outside the Patio Cafe at Fig Garden Village in Fresno. There were about 15 other people under that same tent – all of us dining blissfully on a gorgeous afternoon – when a man slowly drove by in the parking lot in a red pick-up. He drove past me, so I didn’t see what happened next, but lots of those 15 others did.
Seems a small, cute, black-haired dog of some kind had been riding in the bed of that truck and jumped out. The driver apparently saw the dog jump. He immediately stopped the pick-up, got out, and started calling the dog’s name because he hadn’t seen where the dog had gone. Well, the dog had gone to the passenger’s side of the truck — onto a grassy strip with trees — and started – well, you know. Anyway, the driver walked to the rear of the truck – toward us – and kept yelling the dog’s name because he hadn’t seen where it had gone.
By this time, I’d turned around. All of us saw the dog – and all of us – yes, every single one of us under that patio tent – started yelling and pointing to where the small, cute dog was. The driver heard us and saw us pointing. So he went and picked up that small, cute dog and drove off – this time with the dog in the pick-up’s cab. Then all of us turned back to our lunches and went on with our individual business. It was a nice interlude that had briefly brought us all together – but it was over, and fast.
Well, now. That got me to thinking about what used to happen when we lived in Paso Robles and my friend Paul and I would go down to the Starbucks near our neighborhood. We did that every morning for years, and we’d sit outside during the summer and fall months. And almost every day we did that, no one would take notice of us – unless the small, cute dog that belonged to someone who also frequented that Starbucks had sauntered over to our table. And then – I kid you not – everyone who went into or came out of that Starbucks would march over to our table and stop to pet that dog. They all assumed it belonged to one of us, and they smiled and talked with us.
The dog had brought them over. Not us. If he (or she, as might have been the case) hadn’t been at our table, Paul and I would have gone unseen. We’d have been invisible, as we usually were.
The exact same thing used to happen when my buddy Jim and I would go to a Starbucks in Clovis and sit outside. If Jim had come alone – without his small, cute dog named Skipper – no one would see us. No one would talk to us. But if Skipper came along – oh, brother! Everyone – man, woman, child – all ages – would stop to pet that dog if they were coming into or leaving that Starbucks. And, of course, they’d have a smile for us – as if we must be great people, to have such a wonderful small, cute dog with us.
I mentioned my Starbucks experiences with Paul and Jim on a commentary on a Fresno radio station a few years back. (Yes, I was doing commentaries for a time for that nickel-and-dime station after I had retired from the really big radio outfit in town.) Anyway, I said that maybe I could get more listeners for my pieces if I mentioned that I had a small, cute dog alongside me while I was voicing those commentaries. I thought that particular piece was rather clever, but it didn’t help save my job. The station changed formats – turning into a Spanish-language outfit – and I didn’t know the language, so I was out.
Anyway, to make this long (but at least somewhat interesting, I hope) story shorter – I’ve been thinking maybe I need to get a dog – a small, cute one, of course – and put his or her picture on any piece I write for this blogsite. Maybe if he or she is small enough and cute enough, he/she will attract more readers. Perhaps even a few of those readers will think my dog will have written the piece. But if I got the dog, I’d have to feed and groom and walk it each day, and I’m not sure I want to undertake that responsibility at this stage of my life. I’d also have to think up a name. And – if I got that dog – remember, he/she would be small and cute – my ever-loving wife would constantly be cuddling that creature at home, and completely ignore me.
So I’m probably going to forget the whole thing. But I still can’t get something out of my mind – which is that if I’d been in the bed of that pick-up as it slowly made its way through the Fig Garden Village parking lot – and if I’d jumped out (which, at my age, would not have been easy) – no one in that patio eating area would have even noticed – unless, of course, I’d jumped out with a small, cute dog in my arms.