Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
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Thirty-five minutes, seven strangers.
No, it’s not the premise of the summer’s hottest new reality dating show (though I’d definitely watch): it’s the length of the walk I just took with my dog and the number of people we met along the way.
It wasn’t by virtue of my friendly demeanour – my typical dog-walking wardrobe is all black, and I don’t exactly have a face that screams “approachable.” My Labrador Retriever mix, Phoebe, also wears all black by way of her shiny, thick coat – but unlike her mother, she always draws a crowd.
While Phoebe basked in the praise and scritches of these strangers-turned-admirers, I wondered how many times pre-puppy I may have walked by these very same people without a second glance, much less a full-on curbside conversation.
It’s something I’ve thought about a lot since my partner and I brought Phoebe home. I knew I’d form a deep bond with my new canine companion, but I never could have anticipated the abundance of human connection headed my way.
When Phoebe joined our family in July 2023, we met more of our neighbours in the first three weeks of dog parenthood than we did in three years of living on our Halifax street.
Not every walk is a seven-stranger situation, but it’s rare to hit the pavement or park without at least one friendly exchange. Math isn’t my strong suit, but at three to four walks per day, those brief amicable moments amount to much more.
Sometimes, it’s as simple as eye contact and a warm smile. Sometimes, that smile is sympathetic when Phoebe is testing our patience with one of her puppy greatest hits. “Beautiful dog” is a popular refrain from passersby – or, my personal favourite, sweet stories about their own beloved pups, gone but clearly not forgotten. A lot of people tell us petting Phoebe made their day. Others really don’t have to: it’s written all over their faces – faces Phoebe likely just licked.
And while many of these exchanges are a one-off, some have become a regular part of our routine. I see Phoebe’s dog friends’ parents more than I see my own friends. Many a morning has been spent at the field chatting over a game of fetch. The support of this new social circle was invaluable in the early days of sleep-deprived, shark-toothed puppyhood – and has been in every stage since.
Despite not having a human child, we spend a considerable amount of time in the daycare parking lot down the street. The staff and kids are some of Phoebe’s biggest fans, and the feeling is mutual. Speaking of fans, I know that one of the daycare staff is a VIP member of an early 2000s K-pop band fan club. It’s the type of fun fact one only learns through consistent and meaningful conversations – the type we now have on the regular, thanks to our dog.
With our main friendship-forming years seemingly behind us, connection can be hard to come by as an adult. The World Health Organization has warned we’re on the verge of a global loneliness epidemic. We live much of our lives behind a screen. Throw in a pandemic that made social isolation the norm, and it’s easy to see how we’ve slid into a solitary state.
My life is richer for having a dog. The love and joy I feel for Phoebe is over-the-top and obvious, but the more subtle sense of social satisfaction has been a welcome surprise. I’d like to think the people we’ve met along the way have felt a similar positive impact, no matter how fleeting or small, and that maybe dogs are the answer to building connection and community – 35 minutes and seven strangers at a time.
Andrea Slaney lives in Halifax, N.S.