Dogs know who loves them.
When Bryan and I used to go hiking, I always stopped, asked permission, and petted the dogs we saw walking with their owners. Almost all of them loved me and Bryan.
The one that didn’t was with some really creepy people who kept trying to get me to pet their snarling, snapping little mongrel. I refused, of course, and felt very sorry for that poor little pup.
I would have felt sorry for it, too.
Any dog who lives in a constant “red zone” is miserable.
They never get to relax.
We took Djinni in for her shots yesterday and there was a Pug there with a nice young girl.
It, of course, parked itself on my sneaker and let me love it up.
As I skritched him under his chin, I could feel the harsh tracheal rattles of “Pug breath” and wanted so badly to tell her that Pugs should never wear collars but earlier, she’d said it was her mom’s Pug and I reckon she didn’t have much say in his apparel.
Some people don’t mind helpful hints and others get angry...you never know which way it will go.