When I was in my 20s, I was jealous of how easily smokers could spark a conversation with strangers. A smoker would approach another smoker for a light, and the ice would melt between them. Many years later, I found my own secret weapon in making friends. It is my love for dogs.
A year ago, I moved to a new neighbourhood. Before meeting any human, I made friends with my neighbour’s dog. As the movers hauled in my boxes, a three-year-old Cavoodle stepped out of the elevator with purpose. He walked slowly with a friendly septuagenarian. His name was Alfie.
The pair live one floor above me. Immediately, I was smitten with Alfie’s friendly ways. His human was kind, but I failed to get her name. In a few days, I gained more dog friends: Daisy, Charlie, Basil, Banjo, Mac, Ollie, Simba, Foxy, Khalessi and Joey.
By that point, my neighbours (whose names mostly escaped me) started calling me the dog whisperer. Every time someone saw me, I would either be petting a dog or walking someone’s dog. I don’t carry treats in my pocket or my bag, but somehow dogs instantly warm to me.
Alfie. Source: Supplied
It is awkward to simply start a conversation out of the blue with a stranger. But with dogs, the words flow out of my mouth. Unlike new humans you meet, it is not too intrusive to ask about a dog’s name, breed or age. It takes time for most us to feel safe enough to share details about our lives. But ask someone about their dog and you’ll likely be greeted with all the facts.
I marvel at the enthusiasm dogs show when they see other dogs on their walks. Their tails wag and they happily approach each other before proceeding to the mandatory butt sniff. I have yet to see humans get as excited to engage with a stranger the same way dogs do, appropriate boundaries notwithstanding.
In one year, I have made many canine friends in my neighbourhood. As a bonus, I started to get to know their humans, too. Just last month, while I walked out of my apartment building in the morning, I noticed Alfie walking towards me from a distance. His owner Irene – whose name I have now learnt – smiled back at me.
Dog-sitting duty. Source: Supplied
We’ve graduated from talking about Alfie to talking about ourselves. At the time, I was distraught by the political developments in my home country. Little did I know Irene was carrying her own grief. Her sister had passed away suddenly a few days earlier.
We are both solitary, independent women. We both lived alone, and were both carrying a small parcel of sadness in our hearts. In that street corner, we talked about death, politics, family, health and solo-living. All the while, Alfie patiently waited and listened to our conversation.
“I feel better for getting that off my chest,” Irene said at the end. The two of them then proceeded home for breakfast. Me, I headed to the Royal Botanic Gardens for my daily walk. I felt much lighter. I felt a bounce to my step, open to the possibility of making new dog friends I could pet and cuddle. And if somewhere along the way I become friends with their humans, that’s a good thing, too.
Maida Pineda is a freelance food and travel writer, and author of two books. Follow her on Instagram or Twitter
