|With effort, with effort,|
I will not buy this for Gus.
But I may need to buy an extra-small dog.
Here is an extra-small story that you'll like.
Occasionally, I go to Petco-Where-the-Pets-Go for the food that Gus, my writer-cat, likes as well as filters for his fountain which he doesn't like as much as the faucet.
Usually I pick up a toy or two because I imagine he will be checking for this when I come home. Actually, I know that's not really true, which is why I didn't buy him a Christmas cape in December.
With effort. With effort, I didn't.
At Petco, people are allowed to bring their dogs on leashes because, recall:
Petco is where the pets go.
The dogs are usually well behaved enough, some are better behaved than the owners who don't pick up their excited dog's doodies left in the path of cat owners like me. But I ignore this because it's not:
Petco, where the people go.
The other day, a clutch of people stood with their leashed and sniffing dogs, while they chatted about God knows what, because I couldn't eavesdrop from the register.
But nearby, closer to where I stood, a man the size of a shed crouched on the floor before a display of glittery, bejeweled collars for "extra-small dogs." He frowned, chin in hand, picked up one collar after another, turned it over, tugged at it for give, put it back. It took a while (I let a couple of people go ahead of me), but finally, he chose a bracelet-sized, black velvet collar with pink sequins.
With effort, he rose and headed to the register, still looking over his pick. He probably imagined his extra-small dog being excited about the purchase. Maybe he was recalling the dog's reaction to his or her extra-small Christmas cape.
Even at Petco, where the pets go, people do little things worth mentioning. That one made my day.