The Wall of Meaty Paradise

Perhaps it was an error in judgment on my part to bring Dorothy with me to the corner store on Sunday, which happens to be a dog boutique.  For when we entered and Dorothy walked over to the nearest wall, which was filled with bully sticks and rawhide and meaty bones in all different shapes and sizes -- well, she felt herself to be in paradise.

I quickly found the box of mini buddy biscuits I had gone into the store to buy, while Dorothy wiggled with glee and did little taste tests of the various bones on that wall.  She sniffed at some of the large bags of dogfood, and I successfully kept her away from the side of the store that was filled with plush toys and balls.  I paid for the buddy biscuits, Dorothy got admiration and a treat from the cashier, and then I tried to leave.

"Tried" being the operative word in that sentence.  We did leave the store, but when we got outside and Dorothy realized that I was actually planning on taking her away from the Wall of Meaty Paradise, when we so clearly could just move in and set up camp there, well she was having none of it.  And even though I had a bag of fine treats in my hand (duck and potato roll!) all ready to pop into her gaping mouth, she still put on all four footbreaks, and then bucked and pulled her head when I gave her an encouraging tug with the leash.  I did not pick her up and carry her the half-block home, but I probably should have done, since it was not a fun journey DRAGGING the stubborn bulldogge eight doors down from paradise.

Once inside my apartment, Dorothy turned around and lay down with her nose facing the door and Did Not Budge for 35 minutes.  We have been out a few times since, and each time she darted left, trying to make a bee-line for the shop.  Why in the world did I think she could enter and exit the store like all the other dogs that do so daily?  I have only myself to blame.

Dorothy, not understanding why there is no Meaty Wall of Paradise in our home: