Obi Personal Log Aged One and Eleven Twelfths: Meet and Greet

I don’t want to become the dog that people say has ‘issues’ while they make quotation marks in the air, but really! There are some things that usually don’t fall to a guide dog to discuss. In the majority of circumstances there is nothing to say about this issue. It’s a non-event. Not in this kennel; not on my watch.
OK. Let me take a deep breath and start at the beginning. It is well evidenced in guide dog folklore that once we have our uniforms on we attract an inordinate amount of attention. I believe a similar phenomenon affects fire officers in the human bean world. A certain type of person is deeply attracted to the rippling muscles and well-groomed appearance of a local hero.
In the past, my main admirers have been small dogs – white, off white and tan – and Twiglet, a five month old sausage dog who, on first acquaintance rolled on her back, leaving nothing to my imagination.
Today – light shopping, arranging a hair cut and a coffee in town was a disturbing experience. Normally people flock to me from all sides. The air is filled with the comforting sounds of ‘ooohs’ and ‘ahs’ which make me feel warm all over. Today – nothing! NOT ONE.
Was it the prevalence of buskers in the High Street? Traditional bagpipes, traditional guitar and fiddle mixed with moody folk and The Salvation Army was heady, its true. But I can’t remember the last time I was out on a town walk and we were completely ignored. Well here’s the bite, I was superfluous. Two complete strangers came up and spoke to Mum. One she asked if they knew each other and the person admitted she’d stopped us on our way in to town because it was so nice to see us (she did not know us) out and about. Mum encouraged me to chillax. In the groove I was when a man leant over and stroked Mum explaining to her that it was a nice day. Bless. But why? Mum is a bald dog on Wheels. I am a pedigree trained to have super powers. I don’t want to sound harsh but there shouldn’t really be a need for a contest even. Personally, I think a human bean takes their life in they’re hands if they go up and pet Mum without permission. Amazingly he survived.
What troubled me when I settled after my free run, was why weren’t they fussing me? Mum told me to smell my armpits. It was only when I attempted to do this that she started to giggle. We have very different concepts of what’s humorous.
Mum insisted, as she gently massaged my neck and removed my new boat, that I was over-reacting. (We live by the sea. I have invented a slow sinking boat with tooth punctures in it. Brilliant – though I say so myself.). I’m not so sure. I met five dogs when I was out. EVERY SINGLE ONE GREETED ME. Mind you I got well fed up being told REPEATEDLY not to greet them! You can go off people.