I was leaving the farmer’s market when I ran into an old friend. It had been years since I’d seen her and, clearly, much had changed. She was married, had a son, and had just moved into a new house.
“We should go out for dinner and catch up,”she said.
“Great,”I said. I loved the idea of reconnecting after all these years.
“You’ll love Travis,”she said, referring to her hubby. “He’s a real foodie.”
“Let’s pick a date,”I said. Then, glancing over, noticed how her three year old son was completely smitten with my french bulldog Lulu. “Hey, your son seems to like Lulu.”
“Oh, he’s obsessed with dogs.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“Oh, no,”she replied. “Travis hates dogs.”
Travis hates dogs? She may as well have said “Travis steals from charities” or “Travis just got out of prison for killing someone he was trying to rob” or “Travis is an executive for Air Canada.” Travis hates dogs? Well why the hell would I even want to meet Travis? And why the hell would I want to go out with someone who married a guy like Travis?
Needless to say, I did not get her number.
It reminds me of a couple I knew. My ex had gone to school with the wife. The husband became our financial advisor. They had a dog who they kept in the garage from 9 to 5 while they were at work. One day, I learned they had put the dog down because he had been destructive – as, I imagine, anyone would be if they were kept locked up alone without any interaction for 8 HOURS A DAY! “It wasn’t fair to him,”they explained as though killing him had been an act of great largesse on their part. Needless to say, I pulled my accounts. The husband was upset, lamenting the fact that he had already dispatched their annual corporate Christmas “Thank You” gifts. In retrospect, my feelings toward him and his wife were about a bad as that bottle of white wine he sent.
I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. People who like dogs are generally goodhearted folks, while those who don’t are jerks at best and serial killers at worst. In both of the aforementioned cases, I cut my losses before I could find out which.
All good on the dog front. Lulu gets her “zipper” of stitches/staples out next weekend. She looks like a chihuahua in a french bulldog costume. Bubba, meanwhile, is the toast of the neighborhood whenever he goes out for a stroll in his goofy hat or Hawaiian shirt. He’s the McGarrett of downtown Toronto!