Fear of fangs and maw make pizza delivery a shuddering experience

Danny Andrews

Danny Andrews

I have been a pizza delivery boy off and on for about four years now. Most of the time, I can say it’s a simple enough job. I get paid to drive around the city and eat free pizza. It’s perfect, except for one thing: Some people own dogs.

First off, dog owners act like a different breed all together. Dog owners are used to yelling at their pets, having cataclysmic barking fits occur whenever the doorbell rings and picking up poop in little plastic baggies. Also, the smaller the dog, the more dog-related stuff they buy. If you own a Great Dane, then your neighbors probably don’t even know it exists. But if you own a chihuahua or a dachshund, you might be in the running for owning the third-largest collection of chihuahua-themed knick-knacks in the continental United States.

Just the other night, I delivered a pizza to a nice family with a love of dachshunds. I could tell because of the personalized vanity plates reading “DACHSHUND” or even the sign reading, “This PAW-perty is protected by Weiner dog security system.” I rang the doorbell and was greeted by the smallest, yet bravest dog I have every seen. The owner popped up, grabbed him and opened the door with a little bit of wisdom: “Don’t worry, he’s more bark than bite.”

I don’t want to seem cynical, but I have yet to be afraid of any creature whose name contains the word “wiener.” If I was afraid of something so tiny and adorable, I doubt I would ever leave the house. Could you imagine if I were to see a cougar or even a fluffy kitten? I bet I would need to wear a diaper. But I digress.

On the exact polar opposite of these people are the dog owners who own giant, Kujo-looking mothers and insist that they’re harmless. Right. It could just be me, but whenever I glimpse a large, snarling, pony-sized beast, my bladder leaks a little. It’s always a huge dog that appears to desperately want to eat my face and a little wiry guy barely holding on to the behemoth’s collar and asking me if I like its glossy coat. Sure, buddy, the thing I’m focusing on isn’t the bared fangs or the frothing maw that might spell my doom. It’s the beautiful, lustrous coat.

Another thing I can’t stand about dogs is that they’re always sabotaging my tip. How many times can dog owners open a door and not expect their dog to attempt a run at unleashed freedom? The door opens, the dog bolts and I get an eyeful of scorn. Is it my fault that no one in the entire history of humanity is capable of using a foot to stop any kind of animal?

Anyway, no matter what I say, I still have to deal with it. I may be a cat person in a dog person’s job, but at least one hasn’t actually eaten me. Yet …

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