Selective perception and the Napoleonic poodle

Due to recent circumstances, I’m currently staying at my mom’s condo.
Sitting at my computer, I look out and see the following tableau:

Two elderly women. One is holding a leash, and on end of said leash, a tiny poodle, snarling and barking at elderly lady the second.
And what, pray tell, is this 2nd woman doing? Talking baby talk to the vicious little shitter, “Oh, you’re so cute, yes you are, it’s okay.”
And I mean, the frickin’ thing is acting nearly rabid at her presence.

Rewind:

I know this little savage. Her name is Ginger. I don’t know elderly lady the 1st. Name, or anything.
That’s the way this critter acts towards everyone.

Trying to be a good son, I take out the newspapers, trash, etc., as my poor benighted mother isn’t charging me rent, PG&E, etc. So I’ve run afoul of this diminutive monster before. Every time I see her (the poodle), she goes into this apoplectic fit. And, I mean, the fucking thing is no larger than a football. I could punt her easily over the complex, no sweat.

I recall this vividly:

As a toddler, we’d visit my grandparents. They had this vicious little poodle. Name? Don’t remember. What I DO remember, is being (5? 6?), being under the table, trying to reach out to this vicious beastie, cooing my delight, and being rewarded with a goodly bite on my nose (the scars are still there, but barely noticeable). And I recall this also: even as Ma (and I think Nana) were tending to my wounds, even through my wailings, I could distinctly hear my grandpa beating the everliving shit out of that poodle.

Now, I love dogs, all sizes, and all shapes. Like I love people. Not scared of either.

But vicious is vicious, no matter what.

So, fast-forward some 40-odd years later.

Taking out the trash, ran into elderly lady the 1st, with Ginger in tow. She accidentally drops the leash. Lo and behold, Ginger, she of the salivating fangs and protective mien, just stands there, does nothing. We look at each other. Her owner picks up the leash, and 3 guesses to the response? Yep. Back to Rabid Pitbull mode.

Hey, she’s old. Probably only a few years left (dog AND lady).
My biggest kvetch here is Elderly the 2nd.  Old enough to know better. All she sees is the cute little poodle. Not the snarling, nasty fangs of some diminutive toy poodle with delusions of Cerberusian proportions, who’d gladly sink her teeth into a stranger’s flesh, just to feel good.

Bit nose teaches best, I think.

Anecdotal in nature, sure. But easily applied on a broader spectrum.

Some people live in their own little worlds, where bears are huggable, religion raises people above their primal natures, violence is the shortest distance between two points, and poodles are infinitely loveable despite their obvious distemper.

Gets up me nose, it does.

Some folk got no lick of sense whatsoever.