There was no one in line at the paint counter at Home Depot. Sweet! With paint chip in hand, I knew exactly what I needed: two gallons of interior flat.
Just before I described what I needed, a woman held out a white electrical outlet and asked, “Where do I find the paint to paint this?” Caught a bit off the guard, the paint guy pointed and said, “Down that aisle on the right.”
“What kind do I need?” she asked.
The paint guy took a close look and said, “Gloss. Down that aisle.”
“Is it OK to paint this?”
“Sure,” he said.
Her service dog was watching the whole exchange. Her service dog was a five-pound Yorkie, wearing a tiny “Service Dog” vest. I looked down at her. She nervously looked up at me. Neither of us was interested in the situation.
I said, “That is a tiny dog!”
I do not believe English was her first language. She simply smiled at me. I said, “I have a Great Dane.”
Her eyes got big and she said, “I saw one when I was four years old. I remember looking way up at him.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “She’s about a hundred pounds heavier than your little one!”
That little dog weighed less than the amount of food I feed my big dog in a day. I now know there’s no minimum weight requirement on being a service dog. That little canine shook so much when I looked at him, I think he needed an emotional support dog of his own!
If he can do the job, more power to him. However, if it were me, I’d want a large dog to be watching out for me. But that’s just me.
Waite for it... 