There are three faithful friends — an old wife, an old dog, and ready money.
- First US Postmaster Benjamin Franklin
Everyone please note that dogs are no longer welcomed at the Cooperstown Post Office. Sully and I have done our mailing together for over a year, but last week I learned, rudely, that things have changed. My, my, my, you’d have thought we’d walked in flashing six-guns.
Until recently our local PO was more accommodating of furry companions, a flexibility much appreciated while walking errands in the village. Apparently, a negligent dog owner allowed a pet to relieve himself in the building and then left, thereby ruining things for the rest of us. Judging from the postal staff’s over-reaction to our very presence, I suspect it had happened recently and, lucky us, we were the first targets of their anger.
In no way does this excuse the graceless behavior of the Cooperstown Postmistress, who seems to wield her title like a truncheon. “I’m the Postmaster! You’ll have to leave- I’m the Postmaster!” Small towns, for all their homey touches, can be handicapped by their very lack of population, which often translates to a tiny pool of talent available for public service jobs.
For Heaven’s sake; post a “No Dogs Allowed” sign so the unsuspecting public, having previously done our postal business with pets in tow, are informed of this change in status. It would be preferable to the regrettable public exchange that resulted in our (mine and the guiltless Sully’s) eviction. Poor Sully, who is well-known to every mail carrier and most merchants in Cooperstown, was mortified. As for me, I’d like to say I’ve been thrown out of better places, but this was my first time. I’ve never been ejected from any place, and of all places the PO? Who’d have guessed Eudora Welty’s spirit would find haven in way-up-north Cooperstown? I must admit to a tingle of exhilaration from dabbling around the edges of criminality.
Of the three major shipping services, the US Postal Service, sadly if not surprisingly, has the poorest record of success and efficiency. I opted for the nearby PO only because a bout of sciatica temporarily limits my steps, and the clerks are usually pleasant. When the Postmistress scurried out to assert her authority, I sacrificed my privacy and informed her of my condition, because it was preferable to walking any farther that day. I assured her that Sully would never darken her doorstep again, yet still she denied my pleas to simply mail the package. That is, of course, her discretion; but of the two of them, the canine Sully behaved more like a mensch. The (Post) Mistress was resolute, apparently taking her role Very Seriously. Sully slinked, and I limped, off, having been dressed down in public for attempting to use a service my taxes support. I don’t object to the dogs verboten rule; I object to its mercurial application and its farcical enforcement. “I’m the Postmaster!” Yes, you made your point.
Sully and I like The Copy Shop, where the employees are constantly pleasant (and much less tense,) where we can ship with the far more reliable UPS and Fed Ex. Apparently, I needn’t darken the Cooperstown PO threshold, either.
Nice Eudora Welty reference. I have to admit, when I saw the title, I knew that there’d be one.