The dogs, two big, grizzled gents with the sad eyes that all intelligent dogs seem to have, are perfectly behaved the entire train ride from Manhattan to Brooklyn, laying quietly at the feet of their owner and taking up as little space as possible for such large fellows. Said owner, dressed in tattered fatigues, wide-brimmed hat, dusty boots and ratty coat, and wearing sunglasses inside and at night, seems used to the attention his companions attract, periodically patting their threadbare "Service Dog" jackets as if to reassure them, and all his fellow commuters, that everything is fine.
Now, however, getting off the train and tracking their way to the surface, they seem to move with greater purpose, fast and low to the ground. Halfway down the sidewalk, finding their target, they surround the businessman in his suit and tie, and one of the dogs lifts his leg to pee directly on the man's briefcase, after which, mission accomplished, they vanish into the night, leaving the incredulous suit to gawk in their wake.
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