What The Dog will resort to...

The Dog is NOT happy. He wants to go home... and eat breakfast. Nor is The Shortperson. He wants to be left in Peace... after his breakfast.
But, who cares about him? He's just an ol' grump. A Dog for him stays in his kennel until otherwise called upon to be paraded around for all to see before being carried back to the kennel by their un-paid keeper... i.e. Moi!!! Gads. What a Life. NOT for My Dog. Nor for Me.
Please note: the crossed arms of said Short-person. Don't miss the pursed lips either. So be it. I'd like to see him lie down on a cold & damp stone pavement, while Mr. You-know-who gets to munch on a fresh brioche & drink frothy cappuccinos the whole morning long while on vacation in Sardinia. The Dog's Tactic simply says...
Hey! I'm on vacation too and I am hungry, since you DID NOT BOTHER TO GIVE ME any of your brioche with marmalade stuffed inside... some of which fell on the same pavement I was condemed to drape myself upon! Don't you know it's Christian Charity to share??? And you, a Catholic!!! Better to be an Anglican, like that other person... whatever his name is.
I agreed.
Naturally, giving The Dog MY VOTE is politically risky, perhaps, even unpleasant. I must perpetually suffer the Politcal Comment of The Short-person, riguarding The Proper Behaviour of A Dog in Public, such as, in this case...
Look at what Your Dog is doing!!!
Are you implying... par hazard... that My Dog is misbehaving in some fashion? I'll have you know that The Dog is EXTREMELY well mannered and... for your fine information, Mr. Short-y-person... he is highly appraised AND applauded by one & all for his Beyond Repute Comportment en Publique... merci beaucoup, Monsieur. Furthermore, has it escaped your attention that all the bar-boys & girl, plus the entire complex of clientelle have come over to caress My Dog? Well, baring that one Swede-person with the back-pack.
Then, The Short-person's launched his "Harrumph"... in Italian. It's an ugly noise. Be glad that there isn't audio on this blog. And, Italian is such a beautiful language too.
Also, please note: The Dog did NOT come & bother me. The Dog knows... instinctively... who to inflict his brand of Weimaraner Sturm und Strang. I think he picked just the right person. I knew how to share! Gads.