I am sitting in a chair, flipping through a magazine. Isaac is lying quietly at my feet.
A woman comes in, squeals, "What a pretty dog!" and bends over to pet Isaac's head.
I say, "Isaac, stay," and he does, although he makes flirty eyes with the petting woman.
Finally, she takes a seat (far enough away that she can't pet him). Then she strikes up a conversation with me.
Woman: Are you training him?
Me: No, he's trained.
Woman: He's trained?
Woman: Oh... well, he seems like he's well trained.
Me: Yes. Thank you.
Woman: They train them a lot near where I live.
Me: Uh huh. (I don't ask where she lives. I assume she means some organization trains service dogs near where she lives, but I don't ask that, either).
Woman: I know you're not supposed to pet them. I knew I shouldn't pet him when I saw him, but then I saw those eyes and I had to.
Woman: He just has such beautiful eyes.
Me: Yeah, he does.
Woman: He reminds me of my lab, Sammy. He looks just like him. Except Sammy was all black.
Woman: He died recently. We had to put him down. He had cancer. He got it from lying in front of the fire place.
Me (slightly confused): I'm sorry to hear that.
Luckily, at that point my name was called. I said good-bye and hurried away.