On my way back from the grocery store the other day I encountered a group of dogs patiently waiting outside a liquor store.
I assumed they had been left there by a dog-walker who was securing some sustenance for the task ahead, but they looked like they were just hanging out like anybody you might see waiting outside a liquor store.
There was the grizzled old Bulldog with the bored, knowing eyes of one who has seen it all. Twice.
There was the under-aged, nervous Greyhound constantly in motion, bobbing up and down, shifting from one foot to the other (and, quadrupedally, to the other and to the other) on the lookout for someone to come along who would be willing to pick up a six-pack for him and some buddies.
There was the authoritarian German Shepard with the no-nonsense stare who looked like he might take anyone into custody who happened to buy a six-pack for an under-aged greyhound and his buddies.
And there was a sad eyed Bloodhound whose long, droopy face said that perhaps today life was just a bit too much to bear.
After a moment they noticed me watching them, and I thought they might start growling or barking, but most of them just yawned and went back to their vigil.
I'm not sure what this meant, but I think they figured I was just another loser with nothing better to do than hang out by a liquor store.