I am watching a smallish bitch in one of my favorite watering holes. An elegant mutt, it is quite to my liking. It is on a leash held by a woman in her mid-thirties who is talking to another woman about her age. Across the isle two men in their mid-twenties are talking to each other. The dog is forever on the lookout for someone who would pet it. First it goes to its mistress and gets a few inattentive strokes. Then it goes to her friend, and gets much more attention. It props itself up on the woman’s knees for all the petting it can get. But the two women are talking in earnest, and the dog gets down after a while. Then it turns toward the two men in turn, but they are also talking quite seriously. They do not even look at it, and it lets out a barely audible whine. It strains on its leash toward the men, but without any success. Disappointed, it returns to its mistress and nozzles her gently. The cycle repeats itself over and over again. The petting deficit syndrome, to coin a term. The bitch must be used to much more of it at home.