Recently while walking our dog Beckett through the village green*, I had the following conversation. I share to prove that even in Vermont, there are Those People.
*Actually it happened near the bus stop, after I had left the green. I, however, would like to pretend I exist solely on the village green for as long as I live in a village with a green.
Random Woman: Oh, that's a nice dog. Is it a chihuahua?
Me: No, he's a fox terrier.
RW: Oh, because he looks a lot like a chihuahua.
Me: Yeah, people say that sometimes. But he's a terrier.
RW: His head is shaped like a chihuahua's. And his neck.
Me: (NOTE: The remainder of my side of the conversation takes place in my head, while in person I smile and nod.) I'm not sure that I can be polite to you anymore.
RW: (As Beckett allows himself to be pet) I let dogs approach me and sniff and decide if they want to interact. That's how I show that I respect them.
Me: Perhaps another way to respect him would be to acknowledge that he's not a chihuahua.
RW: Yeah, sometimes you have to watch out with chihuahuas. Sometimes they just want to bite.
Me: Have you ever actually encountered a chihuahua, or do you just refer to every dog you meet as a chihuahua? Maybe you enrage the dogs by causing identity issues. Maybe they think that while being a chihuahua is certainly not shameful, it is also not what they are and they get mad! Maybe they are just trying to prevent their owners' heads from exploding!
RW: All right, thanks for letting me pet your dog. To someone nearby: Did you see that chihuahua?
Me: Pfff! (It turns out that when your head explodes it just makes a quiet little pfff.)
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