I saw bomb sniffer and all-around black Lab Mr. Bitz in my office lobby last week. I spelled things out for him – I said, “I don’t have a bomb, Mr. Bitz,” as I scratched under his chin. He wagged his tail. His trainer laughed. Every chance I get I say hello to Mr. Bitz or to his work companion, Lola, who looks enough like him to be his twin sister.
Then I noticed that out of nowhere some German Shepherd interloper started showing up with the usual downward sloping back of a pure breed and a different, squinty-eyed trainer. They appeared to be all business, all official K-9 business, all piss, vinegar and the sobriety that comes with a muy importante security gig in Nueva York. I didn’t see any squeaky toys lying around either. Just a nice concrete slab to lie on to stay out of the sun.
Mr. Bitz and Lola are better at making friends.