They Give You a Uniform for That?
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I asked him which dog was his. None, he replied. I work here. I work here? He works at the dog park? Although my investigation of his ringless fingers had been thorough, somehow I had totally overlooked his enormous badge, tan uniform and Royal Canadian Mounted Police style hat. This guy spends his days in a hot, dusty yard making sure that no poop goes unscooped. Woah. And I thought being a waitress was bad. He told me about his recent application to the zoo but that he hadn't heard anything back yet. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was just a bigger park with bigger poops that you could die attempting to scoop. Trying to make him feel better, I told him that the zoo is a dump too and probably not much better than his current gig but in hindsight, this probably didn't help our virile friend feel any better.
By the time I extricated myself from the conversation, I felt nothing but total and absolute pity for this guy although I have never been more grateful for chain link fencing before. He reminded me a lot of the overly friendly golden retrievers that had terrorized me as a kid. I guess if you spend all day watching dogs chase and woo each other it must ingrain itself in your routine. As I drove out of the parking lot, I looked back to see him staring through the fence wistfully at my taillights. That poor guy could really use a nice rub behind the ears.
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