"Stop it," I told him. "How can anybody be mad at a dog that friendly?"
He shot me an "It's a dog thing. You wouldn't understand" look and continued to growl.
"She is a little much, isn't she? Daisy, get a hint. He doesn't want to play,” someone said.
I then noted that the dog was still on a leash and looked up to see a smiling middle-aged woman attached to the other end. She had dark hair and olive skin and was dressed in a “professionally casual” (trying to look relaxed and failing) green jumpsuit.
“Come on Daisy. Leave him alone.” She tugged lightly on the lead to little effect. In fact, if it was possible for a tug to seem insincere, that tug would fit the description. It didn’t dawn on me until later that she might have staged the whole thing just to talk to me. But that even look
