Personal Narrative: My Trip To The Dog Area

Before I could order anything, the girl at the cash register had to call my attention twice before I stopped staring at their “Family Photo”, a framed collection of the café dogs’ pictures, with their names and breeds printed each portrait. Most of the dogs were bright-eyed and panting, their tongue lolling out in eagerness. They all looked right into the camera; as if they knew that their adorable puppy eyes and pent-up energy would translate easily into the picture and make anyone perk up in the anticipation of having a chance to play with them. That’s definitely how it worked for me and my groupmates. We absentmindedly paid for our tickets to the Dog Area as a thousand images of how the experience was going to go formed in my head, further kindling my excitement. Little did I know that as I set foot in the café’s Dog Area, I was signing myself up for a whole different experience than the perfect idealization I had shaped in my head.

They pawed desperately at the door of the room where the other dogs that weren’t “on shift” were kept. We could hear their low whines and almost-growls, but rarely loud barks that earned them a spray of water as a warning. Some of the dogs who managed to escape rude customers even ran to me and my groupmates. At first we were confused, because none of the dogs seemed interested in going near at all when we walked in. However, we realized that they were here with us because we were the only customers in the room that didn’t shake them awake for a picture or carried them around the room like an accessory despite their growled prostests. My heart grew heavy as Coco, a black poodle who was being bounced on the lap of little girl that ignored his soft yelps, looked at me for a long time before allowing himself to fall asleep on my lap. It was as if he waiting for me to force him into a pictorial or make him do tricks for me before he could believe I would actually let him