Other People’s Pups

It’s a contested issue, but I’m certain I know what heaven looks like. I’ll direct you to pages 22 and 23 of P.D. Eastman’s picture book “Go, Dog. Go!”

The pages show a giant tree canopy, on which over 30 dogs play, doing all the things that dogs love to do: jumping rope, eating birthday cake, lounging around reading novels, swinging from a trapeze. Heaven is this scene, and I want to be in the middle of it.

If you can’t tell by now, I’m a bit of a dog fanatic. It wasn’t always this way, at least not from the very beginning. As an infant, I was brought home to a long-haired black cat. And though I loved that cat, my passions were soon diverted. My mother began introducing me to dogs on the street, so I wouldn’t be afraid of them. It worked all too well, and soon I was begging for one.

When I was nine, my mom acquiesced, and we got a mini goldendoodle. Then, a year later, my dad and stepmother got an English cocker spaniel. Fast forward three years, and my stepmother, as unable to resist those cute canines as I was, convinced our family to get another English cocker. In the span of four years, I’d turned from a dogless wretch into a girl with an embarrassment of canine riches. What luck!

That is, until I left for college. It may sound awful, but in some ways I missed my dogs more than my parents. I’d regularly talk to my parents on the phone or FaceTime, but there was no way to cuddle with my pups from 200 miles away. The one time I saw Jasper, my mini goldendoodle, over FaceTime, she just stared at me blankly. After all those years of loving companionship, and not even a bark hello.

I was canine-deprived, and I needed to find a way out. The solution? Petting stranger’s dogs.

My serial dog-petting is well known among my friends. Once, on a Minuteman Bikeway ride with my roommate, I squealed as I noticed a tiny brown schnauzer with a mustache. My roommate doesn’t have my same penchant for pups, so she sped off into the distance, only stopping once she realized I’d be hanging with the schnauzer for quite some time.

Once I’d caught up to her, I complained that I’d accidentally stopped my watch while petting the little mustachioed fellow.

“That’s what you get for making us stop for that dog,” she said, unsympathetic.

Others are more in awe of my dog-greeting abilities. On a walk with a friend from high school, we stopped to greet a corgi in our path. My friend, a pug obsessive, said he wished he had the courage to say hi to more pugs he saw on the street.

“The only pug I ever met was Trolly,” he bemoaned, remembering one fond interaction with a pug on the Jersey Shore.

There’s a sort of unbridled joy in the whole endeavor. One time, coming back from a run, I spotted Mooshoo, a Bichon from Lowell House that I’ve long admired. I immediately changed course and bounded towards Mooshoo, calling out to her owner to wait up. Mooshoo was even better in person, spunky and full of energy. I told her owner I’d always wanted to pet Mooshoo.

“She’s great,” her owner said, glancing at the Bichon who was spinning in circles and prancing at me, “if you want a dog that tries to pet you.”

Though I love meeting strangers’ dogs, it does take a little courage. I remember when I was younger, I thought with sadness that at some point, I’d be too old to say hi to dogs on the street. I worried that it was too childish to ask someone to pet their dogs.

But as I got older, I realized that, at least from my perspective, being asked about your dog wasn’t a nuisance. It could even be a compliment. Sometimes when I’m walking the spaniels or my goldendoodle, a stranger will approach and ask what type of dogs they are. I never thought it was strange, and always enjoyed the interaction.

Still, approaching strangers isn’t exactly the easiest thing to do, especially when everyone is so plugged in. Our norm when waiting in a line or sitting on the bus isn’t to strike up a conversation with the person next to us — it’s to stare at our phones. Headphones and AirPods create a barrier too, making speaking to someone a whole awkward dance: you say something, the other person says “sorry” as they pause their music, then you have to repeat.

Despite this trouble, I still find it worth it to say hi to people’s dogs. In fact, I find asking someone about their pup to be an excellent way to break the ice. Small interactions with strangers have been proven to boost our happiness — and that’s saying nothing about interactions with dogs.

Even if it’s a little strange, or bothersome to my walking companions, I don’t think I’m going to stop petting dogs. I’ve connected with so many people in this way and learned excellent stories. I bonded with my Airbnb owner in Buenos Aires over her miniscule Chihuahua, Toribio. Once, I met a French bulldog named after former Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld (still confused on that one). I’ve even learned that there is such a thing as a Whoodle (a cross between a Wheaten Terrier and a poodle).

At the end of the day, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking to pet his dog.

— Associate Magazine Editor Sage S. Lattman can be reached at sage.lattman@thecrimson.com. Follow her on Twitter @sagelattman.