"...pet the dog."
So I obligingly reached down to pet the doggie's huge head as I passed.
And the fucking thing bit me.
Stunned, I turn around and look up the stairs and she yells, "I said, 'don't pet the dog.'"
Ugh. I didn't get pissed because well, she did try to warn me, and also because I wasn't very seriously injured.
But goddam it — why would anybody bring a dog to a store if they knew it bites?
Look, I know you people love your dogs so very, very much, and your special little smoochy-poochy would never do anything naughty unless he was provoked and all that crap. But ferchrissakes folks, do the rest of us the kindness of leaving the nasty little bastards at home. People do pet pets. See? It's explicitly there in the job description! They don't expect to get their arm taken off below the elbow with purchase.
Brian, this does not apply to your sweet and lovable herd. Or to Maddie or Mellow Leonard.
But the rest of you! GRRRRRRR.