Rudy is tiny, fluffy, and walks like he’s the regional manager of the entire park. Meanwhile I’m behind him looking like the exhausted intern who didn’t read the meeting brief.
We’re doing our usual patrol when Rudy spots a woman with another dog. And out of nowhere, Rudy sprints toward her with the energy of someone who just got approved for a huge loan.
He throws himself onto her shoes like she’s the CEO of Treats Incorporated.
She laughs.
She kneels.
She says, “He’s adorable!”
And this is the moment my brain my allegedly functional, educated brain decides to run a glitchy software update.
I say:
“Thanks, you too.”
You. Too.
I basically called a stranger an adorable dog.
In public.
In broad daylight.
With witnesses.
The whole world pauses.
The wind cuts out.
Even Rudy freezes like, “Bro… this is embarrassing for both of us.”
I try to recover with damage control that only makes it worse:
“I mean not you,you're not a dog,I mean you’re a person...well obviously sorry,my mouth isn’t connected to my brain today”
She gives me that polite smile people use when they’re not scared, but definitely done with this conversation.
She walks off, and Rudy follows her like I’m the embarrassing one in the partnership.
On the way home, Rudy keeps looking at me with the expression of a manager reviewing an employee who is not meeting expectations.
By the time we get to the door, he’s got this heroic strut like he successfully built connections while I publicly crashed my social software.
It’s official now:
Rudy is the main character.
I’m just the guy who holds the leash.
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