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We’ve all seen that romantic-comedy meet cute: Tail wagging, the dog bounds toward the woman. She stoops down, and the dog steals a lick on her cheek. She gently pushes away the wet nose and stands up to find herself face to face with the handsome owner.
My life isn’t a rom com, and it’s not how it happened for me. But I did fall in love with my future husband’s dog, before choosing to be with him.
Parker and I had our first date at a speakeasy-themed bar, on the second floor of a quaint old Iowa City building — one of those places the over 30-somethings flock to in a university town. By the time I ordered my third old fashioned, I had learned a little about Parker, and a lot about Addie, his blue heeler (otherwise known as an Australian cattle dog).
Addie was a rescue dog. A couple years earlier, she had landed in an animal clinic with a broken leg, possibly after being hit by a car. The woman who fostered her called her Adelaide—Addie—after the place from whence the pup’s ancestors hailed. Cara, a veterinary technician, determined her approximate age — around 1 year — and decided her birthday should be February 14. Then she called her friend Parker, whose living situation could be summed up as itinerant bachelorhood with the stability of a day job. This left the door open for a four-legged friend, she reasoned.
