Almost every morning, an older man (I hesitate to call him a gentleman) walks up to the café with his handsome Labrador retriever. He invariably wears old denim jeans and a grey sweatshirt, covers his white hair with a blue baseball cap, and carries a rubber chicken. He walks in the front door, drops the dog's leash, and admonishes him to "Stay!".
The dog looks as his master walks towards the counter, and then follows, tail a-wagging. Of course he will. The man turns around, inept and furious: "Stay! I said sit!", but the dog wanders towards the counter, tongue out.
For reference, the café has hitching posts outside the door where customers typically attach dog leashes. The sign on the door,"No dogs allowed by order of the Health Department", has faded and torn.