"Ma'am, can you please control your dog?"
"She is a licensed emotional support dog, she has every right to be in here."
"Yes, but Princess Shitball doesn't have a right to attack people and shit in the floor."
"Buttons! Stop this instant!"
~Buttons ignores her tiny steaming pile of political promises and starts chewing on a purple thong.~
"She's obviously highly trained. What does she do? Annoy the fuck out of people and give you a break?"
"You're infringing on my rights! I NEED Buttons for emotional support! Where is the manager?"
"Look, I'm sorry you're so emotionally unstable that you can't leave the house without your status symbol, but you really need to have better control. That's all I'm saying."
By this time, Buttons had wrecked a $20 thong, shit on the floor and was looking for more trouble. The manager showed up, listened to a tearful tale of woe and oppression, and issued an order.
"Ma'am, you have two options: pick up your dog's shit and leave, or pick up your dog's shit and keep your animal in your bag while you're in the store. That first part isn't optional, and you need to pay for the damaged merchandise."
"But I don't have anything to pick it up and she'll chew on my new Louis Vuitton wallet!"
"Neither of those is my problem."
He walked away to applause and her vows never to shop there again. I believe I will.
So, just for reference:
|NOT a real service dog.
|Real service dog