“I SAW YOU KICK THAT DOG!” My hand froze on the open door of “Feel Good,” a bakery shop that my wife and dog and I had walked to with happy expectations. “You should be ashamed!” I turned to see the glaring face of my accuser, a white-haired woman standing next to the passenger side of a black truck. Instantly, I knew what she thought she had seen. My poor dog – tortured by rich odors pouring from the bakery into his nostrils – had lunged as the door opened. I barely had time to swing my leg around and …