One day, after my second divorce, when I was living in Manhattan Beach, CA and working as a social worker, I came home to find an enormous puppy sitting on my front step. It was a light brown baby mastiff. I will never forget that huge head on that roly-poly baby body. He greeted me with innocent puppy joy, wagging his entire body.
I knew that this puppy belonged to my neighbor next door, Bob, a single man, because I had seen him walking his dog past my house many times. But after divorcing a second time, I had closed the window on men forever. Would I knock on Bob’s door and tell him I had his beloved pet? No way. I waited for him to knock on my door looking for his dog.