Some people hang out in parks for drug deals. Or to meet up with a lover.
Me?
I put on my jeans, my walking shoes, my favorite t-shirt featuring a Gorilla, and drive across town to connect with, are you ready, a Newfoundland Dog named Dobby.
This big boy is owned and loved by a friend of a friend.
Here’s how this happened. I was complaining to a friend that I missed having Newfies. I missed everything about them.
“The drool?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Ugh,” she said.
I looked at her and wondered how, given that comment, I could even be friends with her. But then she redeemed herself and told me that she had a friend who had a Newfie named Dobby.
“Oh, my God! Where do they live? Can I visit them?”
My friend regarded me with a particular look that I’ve come to recognize as not entirely understanding. You know that look. It’s when you are watching someone and you’re wondering if they’re altogether sane.
I could tell she was thinking whether she ought to continue the conversation.
Fortunately, she did.
She said she’d ask her friend if he’d be willing to meet me somewhere so I could pet his dog.
A few weeks later, I connected with the friend’s friend whose name is John, and he offered to come to the apartment.
Our first meeting was rapturous. I hugged Dobby. I kissed his forehead. I tickled his tummy. He sat. He shook (both paws!). He rolled over. I gave him treats.
At one point, he introduced himself to Monkey. She didn’t appreciate the effort and snarled at him. Dobby backed away. I could see his feelings were hurt because there’s a way Newfies let you know they’re upset: they furrow their brows, their tongues hang out, and then a little drool forms on a jowl.
The first meeting lasted an hour and finally, finally, finally, I released John from capture.
So, last week I had lunch with my friend and she mentioned Dobby. “My friend had a great time with you. He said Dobby loved it!”
“Wow! Do you think he’d let me visit with Dobby again?” She was pretty sure he would.
So, I emailed him and we arranged to meet up in Crestmoor Park, halfway between my house and his.
I arrived a bit early. I sat on some bleachers and checked out reels of Newfies on Facebook. And, right on time, the Dobby van arrived. John got out of the SUV, opened the back gate, pulled out the ramp and, voila! Dobby.
Our meeting was everything I had hoped it would be. We walked. We snuggled. Once again, I kissed his forehead, tickled his tummy, and enjoyed his big giant nose sniffing my face.
As Dobby, John and I sat in the shade, Dobby rolled over, knocking John onto his back. Dobby saw this as a sign for additional affection and so with John flailing like a stuck tortoise, Dobby put one giant leg and paw over his chest to secure him and then began licking. I thought Dobby might crush him, so I distracted him with a treat. It worked. Dobby scootched over to me, his person rescued from certain death or dismemberment.
Our second meeting was, as the first, a complete success.
I whispered in Dobby’s ear that I hoped to see him again. Soon. Anytime is good.
Anytime at all.
Air. 
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