Open Your Eyes

Tonight, I was standing in line at Trader Joe’s waiting to checkout with my customary Friday-night champagne and salami. I’d gambled on a particular clerk’s bagging skills. I felt confident he could load up one person’s items and blow through another before I’d been standing long enough to get bored. I was wrong. I’d overestimated my attention span. I let my gaze wander over the usual display rack of chocolate bars, mints, and seasonal oddities. Shifting from one foot to another, I happened to glance to my right.

There, perched in the middle of the store in a modified walker/crib were three pomeranian dogs. They wore tiny jackets with color-coordinated bows tucked behind each ear. Little blinking red lights were affixed to each of their collars, for safety I presume. Attached to the front of the cart with white zip ties, the hand-painted sign read: Caution! Guard Pomeranians. Next to the words, a fluffy painted pomeranian looking like a modified ball of sunshine, red tongue lolling from its black-lined mouth. Pictured alongside the guard pomeranian were the Mother Mary, and a uniformed man toting a rifle.

The trio were keeping a close eye on everybody passing their cart while their mother fastidiously examined each bottle of wine on the shelf. She would select a bottle, peer closely at the label, lean in to see the price tag, and frowning return it to the shelf. All the while those little dogs, poised in their cart, keeping an eye on things.

Now, let’s be real. I’ve worked in a veterinary clinic for nearly four years. I’ve seen plenty of dogs in strollers. I’ve even seen trios of dogs in clothes before (though the last one was yorkies in dresses). And while these guys were pretty adorable, all fluffy bundled up, I’ve seen cuter dogs in stranger places.

What surprised me was how many people walked right past those dogs. How many people nearly walked into those dogs, and their cart. Or their mother where she was examining wines. And they didn’t miss a beat. They didn’t look up, or say hello, or say sorry. Like some kind of autopilot allowed them to swerve around [unimportant object] on their way to the chocolate-covered almonds, or next open sales clerk.

It made me wonder how much more we’re missing. How many things do I nearly collide with without every knowing? I mean this literally and figuratively, of course. Maybe it’s time to look up a little more often. Maybe it’s time to open our eyes.

I don’t know if that woman ever settled on a bottle. When I left, a man had slowed in front of the cart, looked up from his phone, and was raising a tentative hand for examination by one of the dogs. When I left, those pomeranians were guarding nothing more than the fact that they weren’t guarding anything at all.

Happy Friday, boo faces.

-b