My dogs love me. One reason they love me is because I feed them.  I am the “can opener”, the “kibble scooper”, the “bag tearer opener”.  To them I rock.  I rock the most when I come home with bags of groceries. I am sure to have a some little treat to give them when I return with food because that’s what their lupine instincts expect.

I know when they see me walk into the house, laden with piles of food, their furry little hearts burst with joy and they think. “Hot damn she rocks! She is the most amazing and efficient hunter in the whole universe! I can’t even get a squirrel at the park!  How does she do it? I wish I knew how.”  But I do know that if I took my fur babies with me to the grocery store, it would be a sad shock to their pleasant thoughts.  Their accolades would be dampened when they saw me simply pull the bacon and t-bone steaks straight off the shelves without even breaking a sweat.  There would be no thrill, no kill, nothing.  And the only high pitched “death screams” would be the babies in the buggies or the deft “beep, beep” of the checkers.  Oh how the mighty will fall.

And that folks, is the real reason we don’t let dogs into grocery stores.