The Great Australian Café Canine Conundrum
It’s A Dog’s Life Of Werribee writes,
Dear Westie,
Recently, whilst enjoying breakfast at my local haunt, I found myself staring into the eyes of a salivating labrador clearly intent on sneaking a bite from my toast. His owners seated next to me were oblivious to (or choosing not to notice) the attention their dog was giving my breakfast.
This is not the first time this has happened. In fact, it’s almost a daily occurrence. Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs. I have one myself and while I love him, I don’t assume that everyone else does, so I choose not to bring him with me everywhere. Especially not eating establishments.
Why are people so obsessed with bringing their dogs everywhere?
Oh yes, IADLOW, I too have felt the pain of the Great Australian Café Canine Conundrum! You’ve touched on a truly ruff (sic) issue that’s been hounding many breakfast enthusiasts lately.
Look, I get it. You’re trying to enjoy your smashed avo on sourdough, and suddenly you’re locked in an intense staring contest with a labrador who’s clearly majored in Guilt Trip Studies with a minor in Emotional Manipulation. Meanwhile, the owners are performing Olympic-level mental gymnastics to pretend their precious Fido isn’t currently attempting grand larceny on your plate.
Here’s the thing: some dog owners have completely lost the plot. They’ve convinced themselves that their fur baby is so exceptionally charming that everyone must want them drooling on their footwear while they eat. Spoiler alert: we don’t.
My advice? Channel your inner assertiveness. A polite but firm “Could you please pull your dog back? He’s quite interested in my breakfast” works wonders. Most owners will snap out of their oblivious reverie when directly addressed. If they get huffy, remember: you’re not the one who brought a food-obsessed animal into an eating establishment.
And if the café allows it repeatedly without managing the situation? Vote with your feet and your wallet. Find establishments with clearer pet policies – or delightfully dog-free zones where the only drooling will be your own over that perfectly poached egg.
From last edition
In last’s month’s Dear Westie, we counselled a local gent who was troubled by wait staff mocking him for ordering an (effeminate?) weak cappuccino. Did that hit a nerve? Well, actually, yes it did. While most respondents had no time for our gent’s worries, all were enraged by his gendering of a coffee order, suggesting that by inferring that a particular kind of coffee was more masculine that feminine was an example of woke liberalism gone mad. Burning My Coffee Filter of Braybrook claimed that each different kind of coffee order (latte, flat white, espresso, etc) was its own separate gender and that to force anthropomorphic understandings of gender on to any particular order-type was an infringement of that particular order’s right to identify as any kind of coffee it liked. OK…
