“I think we have a couple people over here who are going to steal your dog,” my dad announces to the other table. The beautiful border collie mix sitting at their feet (allowed in the restaurant because he’s a “therapy dog,” though none of us really buys that) doesn’t even look up, but his people laugh nervously.
After everyone awkwardly returns to their meals, Katie and I gently chide dad for blowing up our scene by telling everybody our plan to steal this dude’s obviously fake (but clearly wonderful) therapy dog, but he waves us off.
“If I tell them you’re going to steal their dog, they won’t expect it when you actually do steal their dog,” he says sagely.
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