I call it "lite" only because the person was marginally polite and didn't rip Itzl from his pouch and "set him free".
He was not, however, gentle, kind, or mannerly. Itzl was too well trained to bare his teeth at the man, but I didn't hesitate to do so. Perhaps I am the one who needs to get my CGC certification, for I am not at all well-behaved or well-trained when I am accosted by people of this sort.
It all started innocently enough. This huge man comes up to me, and by huge, I mean well over 6 and a half feet tall and nearly as broad with muscle. Big. He could hold Itzl in the palm of his hand and have room for a second Itzl-sized dog. My eyes were on a level with his belt bukle. I've become accustomed to people approaching me and asking about Itzl, and that's how this exchange started. He said, "I see that dog has service tags."
I answered, "Yes, he does. He's my partner."
And that's when it started deteriorating.
The man moved into my personal space to inform me in a very authoritative way that I was cruel and had unfairly enslaved an animal that deserved to be free, to live its life as nature intended. He kept pushing towards us, forcing us to walk backwards or be thumped by his wagging finger. He went on about how dogs didn't decide as puppies to be enslaved to human ends. Puppies didn't know they had choices. They were wickedly snatched up and forced into heartless training to become human slaves, beaten, starved, abused...forced to walk in front of soldiers and get blown up by IEDs, forced to jump from airplanes, forced to hunt innocent wild animals, forced to live locked in cages when their owners were at work.
Itzl yawned at this point.
I was halfway between tears of indignation at this man's behavior and laughter at the thought of Itzl forced to work for me.
Itzl is such a work-a-holic that getting him to relax and play is a chore. He wants to always be right there beside me or in his pouch, ears pricked up for any sound I need to know about. The only places he's truly comfortable enough to relax and nap are his pouch:
or one of his beds:
The man started berating me for enslaving Itzl and telling me he'd be happier living out in the wild.
Ummmm - he doesn't know Itzl at all, does he?
Since the man didn't actually rip Itzl out of his pouch, strip off his tags and collar, and throw him outside, or touch me (even though he came really, really close; enough that even Itzl was starting to bristle a bit), I deemed him polite. But he was not well-mannered.
And neither was I.
He backed me up to where there were chairs, so I climbed up on one to be at his eye level (actually, I was slightly taller - woohoo for psychological advantage!), and bared my teeth at him and snarled, "You touch me or my partner and you, sir, are going to be spending a long time in a cage yourself!"
I think the man was so brave only because the store was so empty. Until I climbed on the chair, I didn't even see a salesperson...but up on that chair I saw one and waved frantically.
The man backed up even farther and left quickly.
People like him make me wish I could afford a cell phone with texting capabilities...
Itzl was much more laid back than me about the whole thing.