Chapter 1: A Day at the Sandwich Shop

On a particularly sluggish day at a sandwich shop, I found myself surrounded by an eclectic group of impatient customers, their hunger palpable in the air that smelled suspiciously like a marijuana field. At the front of the line, a middle-aged woman passionately criticized the staff while brandishing her half-eaten Italian BLT, her volume rising as she lamented, “And this is why we have so many problems.”

I sighed, thinking, “Just another day in Florida.” Routine tasks often turn into theatrical displays, with pedestrians stopping traffic to walk their illegal Galapagos turtles or outdoor cafés disrupted by loud activists preaching about morality based on selectively interpreted scripture. It sometimes feels like half the state is teetering on the edge of chaos.

Directly behind the woman stood a calm, blind Asian man, about 6 feet tall and in his thirties, dressed in a black sweater and oversized sunglasses. Beside him was his lovely golden retriever, whom I’ll refer to as Goldie.

Goldie sat patiently, adorned with a pink collar and a blue guide dog vest. Two rods extended from her vest to the man’s hand, ensuring she guided him safely. Having a family friend who raises funds for guide dogs for veterans, I was aware of the rigorous training these dogs undergo—where a staggering 50-75% fail to make the cut. I was eager to see if Goldie would impress.

As the woman finally left, the blind man and Goldie moved up to the register. Goldie sat quietly to his right, both of them facing the cashier. Suddenly, Goldie’s eyes darted to her right, and I noticed a slice of salami that had fallen from the previous customer’s sandwich, now lying tantalizingly close.

As a dog lover, I knew well that any dog would covet a piece of salami. Goldie was faced with a dilemma: “I am a guide dog, yes, but that piece of salami looks awfully tempting.”

She glanced at her owner, who remained focused on the register. The salami was just a couple of feet away on the tiled floor. Leaning her body towards the treat, Goldie extended her tongue, trying to reach it.

What struck me was her awareness of the leash’s slack—she understood she couldn’t pull her owner towards the salami, leaving her torn between obedience and temptation. The salami was winning.

As a fellow golden retriever owner, I reflected on my own dog, Ottie, who had failed the marshmallow test miserably. Goldie, however, was clearly more clever.

When Goldie realized she couldn’t reach the salami, she shifted her position, getting behind her owner and attempting a yoga-like downward dog pose to stretch her tongue further. I couldn’t help but smile at the amusing and poetic nature of her antics.

From this angle, her tongue reached even closer but still fell short. Goldie was running out of time as her owner handed over a credit card. She inched forward, her tongue darting out in bursts, trying to snag the elusive treat.

Then, in a moment of sheer determination, her tongue made contact, but instead of grabbing it, she pushed it further away. As her owner received his sa